


Things We Said Today

by bad1ands



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alive Hale Family, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Boypussy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Growing Up Together, Light Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Some Plot, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad1ands/pseuds/bad1ands
Summary: He says, “In our next life, do you think we’ll find each other?”“That’s the sole reason I live at all.”(Derek is seven-years-old when he meets someone that will create his life.)





	1. I knew it from the very first moment

**Author's Note:**

> Work Title from a Grey's Anatomy Episode
> 
>  **World Building:**  
>  _A/b/o_ are sexes, but you can also be an alpha of a pack or a beta in the pack. Omegas are packless. So everyone regardless of species presents in an a/b/o sex, but only werewolves use a/b/o as well to discuss positions in packs.
> 
>  _male/female/etc_ are genders, and people can self identify
> 
>  _Regarding anatomy_ all alphas have knots and ruts, betas go through neither rut nor heat, and omegas have wombs and heats.  
>  Female alphas are born with vaginas, but their bodies grow penises during rut, which occurs twice a year.  
> Male omegas are born with penises, but their bodies develop vaginas during heat, which occurs four times a year.
> 
>  **Update 01.26.18:** I'm changing the status of this fic to complete. This is a busy time in my life, and I've not been having inspiration for quite some time, so I figured it best to mark this fic as complete for now since there isn't really an ongoing plot.  
>  For the record, I have another chapter partially written and would like to do one more after that (totaling 9 chapters for the fic overall) but I have no clue when I'll be done with those.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first five years together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from James Arthur's "Can I Be Him"
> 
> Skip to end notes for spoilers/warnings that I didn't feel were major enough plot points to be tagged.

i. _  
Unborn; seven years old_

  
Derek is not lost, okay? He knows exactly where he is: the biggest grocery store in town, aisle – er – five with the cookies and chips. So Derek is not lost, no, but he doesn’t exactly know where his mother is either.

Just five seconds ago he was trailing along behind her, scuffing his new sneakers Aunt Cece bought him for his seventh birthday along the dirty-looking linoleum while his mom murmured to herself about what was scrawled on her shopping list, and Derek was _sure_ they were going to go down this aisle to get treats because he begs her every day for more chocolate cookies, but now he’s here and she’s not, and Derek thinks he could be close to crying.

No, Derek is resolute that he will _not_ cry. Because alphas-to-be do not cry, and Derek knows his mom will be so proud of him if he can catch back up to her on his own – and then maybe he’ll get something fun to eat for _sure_. She’ll smile at him big and whisper how brave her son is and how he’s growing into a more distinct alpha every day. It’s just that Derek’s sense of smell isn’t too advanced yet, and there are so many harsh scents hounding him from human cologne to spoiling milk that he’s not sure he’ll be able to sniff out his mother.

If worse comes to worst, Derek thinks he could go up to a checkout and let a grown-up know he can’t find his mom, but the idea feels especially daunting even if everyone believes he’ll be a take-charge alpha. Besides, he thinks it’s more likely that his mom will circle back around for him sooner rather than later anyway.

Still, Derek wants to impress his mother, his pack alpha. Sometimes when his mom is away from the house, Derek’s dad will stand still, close his eyes, and tell of her exact location in town. Deciding to try that, Derek makes sure no one is looking his way before he clenches his fists and shuts his eyes and – er – _feels_. One by one, Derek tunes out idle chatter and harsher smells, tries to locate a familiar heartbeat or scent trail.

It takes a bit of Derek really trying to relax while simultaneously honing his tracking skills, and Derek is just about to give up when he catches a faint fluttering sound. The rhythm is similar to how his heart speeds up when he’s running, and he knows it’s not his mother’s because it’s so weak, but as he listens harder he’s overcome with this tugging in his chest that’s telling him to follow the beat.

Somehow Derek ends up across the store in the frozen foods, is marching his way to a heavily pregnant woman who is leaning over a selection of cooled pies. At first he thinks the woman herself is drawing him near, but then he realizes that she has a heartbeat and distinct earthy scent all her own, so he’s considerably confused when he halts right beside her and stares directly at her protruding belly, wants to nuzzle and cuddle what’s growing inside.

“Hello, little one. Can I help you?” The woman snaps Derek out of his daze, one hand propping herself up on the waist-height row and the other holding a fudge pop that’s still white with chill at the bottom.

“Can I hug your baby?” is what Derek replies with, and he can feel his eyebrows scrunching together in concentration, knows he might not look the friendliest, but he just wants to pick up the baby’s scent.

“Sure,” the woman opens her fudge pop arm, straightens up a bit.

Derek wants to tackle her belly to the floor, wrap it tight in his arms, but he’s also crushed with the urge to be so, so gentle, and trying to satisfy both instincts has his fangs itching to come out, a low growl ruminating in his chest. Once his hands are firmly placed on the sides of her stomach and his cheek is pressed above her bellybutton, the growl turns into a purr, and Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever pull away.

But he does, of course, because he needs to learn everything he can about these new people. “I think it’s a boy,” Derek divulges. “What’s his name?

“Well,” the lady gives him a bemused smirk and cocks her hip, “His name is Mieczysław Stilinski, but we haven’t decided on a middle name.

“My middle name is Alexander,” Derek rushes out, his wolf barking at him to lay some sort of claim on the unborn child.

“Hmm,” she seems to think on it, nudges dark, curly hair from her eye before taking a lick of her ice cream, “Mieczysław Aleksander Stilinski. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Derek nods helplessly along, doesn’t exactly know whether that’s good or bad, but he wants to keep the woman happy so that he can feel the baby move just like Cora did when she was still in his mom’s tummy.

“What’s your name?” she asks casually, then, “and who are you here with?”

Oh, yeah. Derek puffs up his chest and declares, “I’m Derek Hale, and I can’t find my mom.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek. I’m Claudia. Do you want to walk with me so we can find her?”

“Okay,” he says while automatically positioning himself to push the cart. “Maybe you can get my mom’s number so I can play with the baby when he comes out.” Derek is holding his breath for the answer, because if the lady says no then he might just explode. In fact, there’s a harsh growl heavying his chest already, pushing to be let out.

“That sounds fun,” she concedes to Derek’s utter relief. “Want a fudge pop?”

Five minutes later Derek’s mom and Mrs. Claudia are stood next to the bread discussing boring grown-up stuff like lawyer work and public official elections, but Derek can’t complain too much because he’s got chocolate on a stick in one hand and the new baby pressing up against his other.

  
ii.  
 _ten months old; eight years old_

  
“Derek,” his mom calls from downstairs, “our guests are almost here.”

Up in his bedroom, Derek scoffs. As if he can’t hear Mrs. Claudia’s old Jeep crunching up their road. As if he’s not already trying to match his own heartbeat to the baby’s. As if sharp cries aren’t repeatedly stabbing his gut. Which is why he’s still in his room, actually – he’s half-shifted already and just _knows_ his eyes are burning red, and he doesn’t want his pack to know how little control he has over the reaction the pup pulls from him.

Deep, calm breaths. His face is back to normal, but his claws, fangs, and eyes are still wolfish.

Mrs. Claudia explained to him that the baby doesn’t cry because he’s hurt but because that’s his only way to communicate, that you can tell he’s okay if there are no tears, but it goes against every instinct Derek has to let the pup fuss.

Derek digs his claws into the carpet, back firm against his door while he waits for the Stilinski family to be greeted. Waits for them to set the raging baby on the rug in the den, surely already crawling for the staircase.

Wolf surging back towards the surface, Derek has thrown open his bedroom door and jumped down a flight of stairs to scoop up the precious thing before his heart can get through another tha-thump. Immediately his thumbs erase the trails of big, fat teardrops as a growl vibrates in his chest to settle the pup.

Already balmed, still as can be, the baby has his tiny hands on Derek’s cheeks, eyes big with wonder over Derek’s piercing red gaze.

“Hi,” Derek murmurs once his irises have gone back to normal, rocks back and forth and offers a breathless smile.

Soft giggles match a wide smile, and Derek feels his chest puff out inadvertently.

“I see you’ve found your Stiles,” Mr. John seems to pop out of nowhere, using a derivative of ‘Stilinski’ that’s been easier for Derek’s tongue to form.

At first Derek is ashamed that he didn’t hear the man approaching, but he can’t really be mad at himself for lending the utmost attention to the baby. “I think he would’ve found me if he could’ve.”

“No argument there,” Mr. John mutters, hands stuffed in the pockets of his khakis as he waits for Derek’s dad to come into the den, most likely. They like to watch t.v. while the moms laugh loudly from the kitchen bar.

Derek has already focused his attention on setting up Stiles’ toys on the den’s carpet when Mr. John decides to start talking again, scent wavering a bit uneasily: “You know, son, we’re far from neglecting Stiles. When he’s at home he’s happy as can be, and it’s only when he starts getting closer towards where you are that he gets fussy.”

Eyebrows pulling down, Derek holds the pup closer to his chest and tries as respectfully as possible to disagree. “He _likes_ me.”

“Oh, we know,” Mr. John states, guilt rising in the air, “What I’m saying is that he’s only upset when he’s around you but can’t be right by you. Like he can – uh – sense you even when you’re miles away.”

Even though Derek kind of expected deep down that Stiles could feel his presence, it’s satisfying and relieving both to hear it confirmed that the connection goes both ways. “I can feel him whenever he’s on our side of town,” Derek admits.

Mr. John whistles. “Impressive. Stiles can pick you up about halfway down your road, I think.”

Derek doesn’t know how to respond, really. So many emotions are swirling in his stomach and chest and head. His dad comes out of his study, anyway, so Mr. John takes a seat on the couch, and Derek returns his attention to the baby, who’s starting to squirm.

After the dads are halfway through _Naked and Afraid_ and the moms have discussed every school teacher they’ve ever known (including Derek’s newest, Ms. Job of the third grade, who is a _mean_ lady) and Laura has stuck her tongue out at him for ‘hogging the baby’ and Cora has toddled her way all over _Stiles’_ special area, dinner is ready, and they all get seated around the Hale’s dining room table.

Stiles wins most of the attention, as always, hysterically laughing his way through flinging his peas at Derek and demanding to be leaned against Derek’s chest while he takes his bottle so he can still see everyone else. It’s obvious that Stiles is tired with the way he’s sucking one thumb and has his other hand pressed against the warmth of Derek’s throat, but he manages to keep his eyes open, which means Derek gets to stay up past his bedtime lest Stiles throw a tantrum at his absence.

Thirty minutes later they’ve all migrated to the den again, and Stiles has maneuvered his belly to Derek’s chest, eyelids sticking closed longer with every blink, when Mrs. Claudia says something that catches Derek’s ear.

“At our pediatrician’s office there was a nurse whose baby is just over six month’s older than Mieczysław, and I ran into her again at the park yesterday. The short version is that we’ve set up a play date for next weekend,” Mrs. Claudia cuts herself off from rambling.

“Oh, it would be nice for Mieczysław to have another friend close to his age,” his mom hushes.

Derek stiffens up at the implications. Technically she could be slighting Cora, who is nine months older than Stiles, but Derek doesn’t think that view is very likely. With Stiles’ tiny heart beating against Derek’s, the older can feel his eyes glowing red because he feels somewhat threatened by his mom’s conversation.

“I think she may also be going through a rough patch in her marriage, so she could use all the support she can get,” Mrs. Claudia lowers her voice as well as if the other weres in the room can’t hear the blood pumping through her veins.

“A psychologist through and through,” his mom chuckles, whatever that means, “and you’re taking on a patient pro-bono, too.”

Mrs. Claudia laughs in return, is starting to reply, but Derek has already checked out of the conversation. All he wants to do is steal the pup off so they can have some peace and quiet to watch cartoons that will make him laugh or play with toys that will help him stand. But with the pup’s eyes closed and Derek’s following suit, he knows their night together is coming to an end.

  
iii.  
 _two years old; nine years old_

  
Derek recalls Stiles’ first birthday being a grand affair. The Hale family’s whole backyard was filled with balloons and tables of dessert, and a lot of Hale and Stilinski friends showed up – including the new baby, _Scott_. Derek remembers hating having to share the pup’s attention with so many people.

Looking back now, though, with extended relatives of both Mr. John and Mrs. Claudia spread as far as the eye can see, Stiles’ first birthday was more like a regular play date than this Second Birthday Extravaganza.

The party is at Beacon Hills’ older park – the one with a pond and nature trail but a smaller playground, and grown-ups Derek has never seen before are gorging themselves on hot dogs while their terror toddlers try to catapult right through the top of a rented bouncy castle and shove sand down their pants in the play pit.

Derek hates the unfamiliar area and the too-loud chaos and the invading smells. He hates having to control his shift so perfectly and babysit snotty-nosed brats while Cora and Malia and _Scott_ get to jump in puddles with Stiles. Most of all, though, Derek hates that no one realizes how important Derek is in Stiles’ life.

When Stiles scraped his knee, his aunts corralled him to Mrs. Claudia to make it better, and when it was time to eat, his uncles pushed Stiles into Mr. John’s lap to be fed, but _Derek_ is the one that always kisses his booboos better and offers him sweets until he’s drowsy and content.

Derek will admit he basked in the curious stares as the baby had to be pawned off to himself in both scenarios, but the grownups should already _know_ that Stiles needs Derek most.

Eventually the birthday boy and Derek end up getting to be together on the park’s playset. Well, Derek is actually meant to be keeping an eye on all the smaller kids, but there’s a teenager helping most of them down the slide, so Derek thinks he’s allowed to focus his attention on Stiles.

Considerably tired and reasonably wary of flying bugs, Stiles is being extra clingy to Derek, and Derek can’t say he minds protecting the babe from sleep or flies. Derek would really like to put the toddler to rest with rumbles of his chest, but there are too many humans around for that, so he settles for letting Stiles lay his head on Derek’s shoulder as the older sways.

Stiles has grown to be extremely rambunctious, always running head-first into trouble and taking nose dives into danger, and Derek loves the boy’s energy, but he can’t say he regrets being allowed to safeguard Stiles’ more mellow moods either. When _go, go, go_ is Stiles’ default mode, it’s nice to know he’s trusted with the boy’s more vulnerable moods, is all. So Derek tries to take advantage of their atypical peace by trailing off toward the park’s creek, letting Stiles lob rocks into the shallow water.

“ _Stiles, czy możesz powiedzieć_ ‘Derek’?” The older practices his _Polskie_.

The toddler says, “Da,” leaves it at that as he grabs for another rock.

Mrs. Claudia came to Derek when fourth grade had just started and Stiles had just turned 18 months old. The babe at that point had taken to babbling nonsense a mile a minute – in English, at least. His mom was concerned about Stiles rarely responding to or speaking in a Polish tongue, so she requested Derek take it upon himself to speak Polish around Stiles as well in hopes that he’d begin using it more often.

Derek doesn’t know the specifics behind it, of course, but the task makes him feel important, and it’s nice to be able to prove himself as a dedicated, intelligent up-and-coming alpha, so he tries prompting Stiles’ Polish language whenever he remembers.

“ _Gdzie jest Derek_?” Stiles is obviously distracted and half asleep, so Derek doesn’t expect much.

“Da Da,” he looks to Derek, gestures in the right direction. In goes another stone.

“ _Tak_ ,” Derek acquiesces, “ _Daj mi_ the rock.”

It takes Stiles a moment before he’s grinning wickedly, standing up to chuck a skipping stone at Derek.

Caught between amusement at the boy’s antics and dread at their new game, Derek sets a firm jaw – just as an alpha would – and declares, “ _Nie_.”

But of course, of _course_ Stiles twists his mouth into a little smirk and reaches down for something else to throw.

He has quite an aversion to authority, his parents say, so they’ve nearly ruled out that he’ll grow into an Omega. But Derek disagrees. There’s just something so frustrating about the toddler not listening to him, disobeying him that gets Derek’s blood curdling.

Stiles’ attack doesn’t go as planned when he lets go of the rock too soon and feels it drop on his head. The boy freezes.

Derek holds his breath, heart slamming to a halt for the five seconds before Stiles begins fake crying. There are no tears, which means Derek is able to feel a bit proud over being _right_ when telling Stiles to stop. But not too proud, because the child is still a baby. “Come here, Stiles,” the older opens his arms.

Stiles all but jumps into Derek’s lap, nose scrunched up and hand on his head as he whines.

Draining any vestige of pain (none), Derek hugs the toddler close and ducks eye level. “You’re so goofy, Stiles!” he tries to lift the mood, tickles lightly at a soft stomach.

The little one isn’t up for giggles and instead points at a random spot on his head.

“You’re okay, Stiles,” Derek balms, kisses at a mop of dark hair anyway, “All better.”

After that incident, Stiles promptly conks out on Derek’s shoulders, and an April drizzle starts up.

  
iv.  
 _three years old; ten years old_

  
Derek is in Mr. Lang’s fifth grade class at Beacon Hills School for the Supernatural. It’s actually called Beacon Hills Preparatory, but everyone in the know likes to refer to it as BH Supe, which is beside the point.

What _is_ relevant is that in fifth grade, people are really starting to _date_. They pair up at recess and bike to each other’s houses on the weekends, and they _kiss_.

Mrs. Claudia has said before it’s likely because supes are more attuned with the earth and themselves and each other that they develop quicker, but Derek just isn’t sure.

Physically he’s ahead of the curve; even though omegas tend to hit puberty earlier than alphas, Derek is already growing hair everywhere and rumbling a deeper growl. His nose is sharper too, able to pick up just _how_ sweet developed omegas smell.

The problem is that Derek doesn’t like any of the omegas he knows in _that way_. They smell nice, yes – better than alphas and betas – but he doesn’t want to hold and protect and claim, as Uncle Peter has mentioned before.

Erica Reyes keeps trying to set him up with Ean or Paige, and both are decent omegas, but his instincts disregard both of them.

Derek doesn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he thinks he might be broken.

––

The Hale house is uncharacteristically quiet for mid-afternoon.

Derek’s dad is tucked into his home office, typing away at an article despite it being Labor Day and his mom having a strict rule about no work on the holidays. Most likely Laura and her friends are giggling over boys downtown, Cora is writing on walls at her play-date’s house, Peter is with Aunt Cece and Malia making weird jokes at the park, and Derek is in a bad mood.

Just before he gives in and actually does his chores there’s a faint _ba-bum_ he picks up from a few miles away. It can really only be one thing, and a splitting grin takes over his countenance.

Derek is standing on the front porch even before he can see Mrs. Claudia’s light blue Jeep rolling down the dirt driveway. He’s tempted to run out and meet them halfway, but he knows his mom would chide him for acting like he was raised by wild wolves.

As is, it’s all Derek can do to chirp out a “ _dzień dobry_ ” before he’s yanking open the back door to find Stiles conked out in his car seat.

“ _Halo_ , Derek,” Mrs. Claudia greets after shutting off the ignition. She walks around the car and offers, “ _dobra wymowa_ : good pronunciation.”

“ _Dzięki_!” he replies as honestly as he can while his focus is solely on lifting Stiles from his seat without waking him.

Once the boy is breathing shallowly against Derek’s neck he tries to be a better host by walking Mrs. Claudia to the door and offering her a drink, but his mom has already brewed up a dark tea and therefore promptly ushers him to the den.

Derek is already much more clear-headed, mood turned completely around by the soft scent of _Stiles_ that he doesn’t question the Stilinski arrival… at first. It’s not that he isn’t happy to be surprised every so often, but his parents usually always let him know when Stiles will be coming over next so that he doesn’t badger them about it constantly.

And Mr. John and Mrs. Claudia like to plan Stiles and Derek’s time together around the younger’s naps so that Stiles doesn’t get fussy and upset Derek.

Since Stiles is still out cold, Derek settles him onto the couch and decides he’ll get some juice ready for when the little menace wakes up. And if that puts him in range of hearing his mom and Mrs. Claudia’s hushed conversation, then so be it.

At first there isn’t anything too interesting to be picked up. He’s come in the middle of the conversation when who, what, when, where, and why have already been established. In fact, there’s a lull in conversation, so Derek decides to actually get on with opening the fridge.

“It’s just,” Mrs. Claudia whispers, “I’m so relieved to have answers.”

“I only wish I could have figured it out sooner,” Derek’s mom replies, the typical response of an alpha who feels like she’s let her pack down.

“No,” Mrs. Claudia insists, her voice wobbly yet heart steady. “Not even Deaton noticed, and he’s the resident druid.” She laughs. “Apparently the link is so weak since it’s been dormant for generations, but he says there was definitely a spark’s aura surrounding Mieczysław.”

 _Woah_. Derek is frozen with the fridge door open, chill settling over the kitchen. _Stiles is a Supernatural?_ He doesn’t really know what to think about that, but his heart is galloping away, and it’s obnoxious enough to alert the moms of his presence.

“Derek?” his own questions from the dining room.

Coming back to his senses, Derek places the pomegranate juice on the counter and searches for a glass and a spare sippy cup. “Getting a drink,” is all he offers, pours as fast as gravity will allow and skids out of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know what the information means, and he couldn’t get a good read on the adults’ feelings on the subject, but he’s sure he’ll find out eventually. They didn’t seem overly sad or scared, at least.

So Derek goes back into the den and pulls Stiles back into his lap, lets the boy nuzzle under his chin. And he can’t help a smile perking his lips. Because it’s about time everyone else noticed how special Stiles is.

  
v.  
 _four years old; twelve years old_

  
Derek is one of the oldest kids at the daycare. He easily could’ve gotten away with ditching the hellhole a solid year ago being that he’s a lot more mature than the other attendees and given that Laura could technically be in charge of them both at the house, but Derek begged his mom to let him stay as long as he could at Supernatural Smiles. Because Stiles is here, of course.

All the workers think it’s respectful that he wants to look after his de facto brother, and a lot of the girls think it’s cute that he’s protective of Stiles – especially if they’ve already presented as omega. The guys he plays basketball with are jealous that he gets so much attention – especially if they’ve already presented as alphas, and the beta personalities like that he doesn’t brag.

Needless to say, Derek gets a lot of special treatment at the daycare. Not only because of all the things mentioned, but because he’s about the only one who can positively affect Stiles’ behavior. In fact, it’s almost time Derek go to Stiles’ classroom.

After shoving the rest of his turkey sandwich into his mouth, Derek guzzles down his blue Gatorade and throws away his trash. The lunchroom is small and sound amplifies off the walls, but Derek’s voice has dropped, holds the undertone of an almost-alpha’s now. “I’m going to preschool, Miss Washington,” Derek announces.

“Make sure you ask Hark,” their lunch lady replies, definitely frazzled as she juggles serving and washing and dismissing childish complaints.

Derek doesn’t ask permission, but he does tell the Supernatural Smiles’ manager that Miss Washington needs assistance in the kitchen. Harks asks him if he’ll go help in the pre-k room.

Subconsciously attuned to Stiles heartbeat as long as it’s in range, it takes no time for Derek to decipher that Stiles’ elevated rhythm means he’s likely up to no good.

At first glance – from ten yards away, through the door’s window – Derek can already tell Stiles is not eating his lunch, is not in his seat, and is throwing toys at Scott. So about the same as usual, actually.

A deep rumble ruminates in Derek’s chest just before he opens the classroom door, and he can hear Stiles’ pulse rabbit even as his actions freeze. Not five seconds later Derek is fully inside the room and Stiles has launched himself into Derek’s arms, breathless and giggling.

“What are you up to, pup?” Derek aims at stern and fails miserably, dazed by Stiles’ giddiness and flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“Playing catch,” his grin twists wickedly. Derek can’t imagine the trouble he’ll cause as he grows up.

“Are you here for something?” the teacher asks, stance rigid and tone patronizing. She’s obviously a new hire.

“I’m here to help put the kids down to sleep,” Derek mimics her posture, voice deepening. He can feel his alpha ready to reveal itself more and more every day.

“Well you can help by taking that one to the office,” she informs a bit snidely, points to Stiles because _of course_.

It’s no wonder the kids don’t respect her with an attitude like that, and she’ll need all the help she can get putting them to nap if she wants her lunch. But Derek thinks he’ll let her figure that out for herself.

“Alright,” Derek says, grabs Stiles’ blanket from his cubby and walks back out, waving to the kids that whine at his absence.

Stiles’ pheromones are overflowing with excitement, not accustomed to the level of special treatment where he gets to hang out with the older kids. After thirty minutes outside he crashes, though, demands to be held in the way he lifts up his arms to Derek.

And Derek acquiesces, of course, despite being in the middle of his (half-assed, distracted) kickball playing.  
They sit in the shade, and Stiles says “Thank you, Alpha” for God knows what reason just before falling asleep.

And Derek’s heart jumps and stomach knots, and he doesn’t know what either of their responses mean.

––

Derek wakes up feeling a bit – off. He can’t even describe what’s wrong, really. But there’s a restless energy thrumming through his veins, and he has to kick his covers off before he overheats, begins staggering out his bedroom door.

Once downstairs he accidentally runs straight into his mom while she’s carrying a load of clean clothes.

“Derek?” she questions, “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t, is scratching at his forearm to tame this incessant _itching_.

“Derek!” his mom sounds panicked this time, but it’s kind of far away, and then there’s a firm hold on both of his wrists that’s jerking his arms wide. “Stop!”

Vision focusing at the shock, Derek sees his mom inches away from his face, and he can feel claw marks stitching themselves up on his left forearm.

“You’re burning up, Derek,” there’s a concerned pull to her brow, eyes raking over Derek’s hunched figure. “Sweetheart, come with me.”

“I have to find him,” Derek pants out, eyes darting all around. _Shit_ , his dick is heavy, and there’s an overwhelming urge to just _fuck_ the tension out, but his wolf is clawing to the surface, telling him to go to Stiles.

“ _Derek_!” his mom shouts, voice edging toward that of the Head Alpha, “You’re in rut. You need to get to the saferoom.”

Despite the undertone of authority in his mom’s tone, Derek doesn’t feel the overwhelming urge to submit like he normally does, instead uses his excess adrenaline to jerk out of his mom’s grip on him, bolts towards the front door. And he almost thinks he’s made it, but then he’s slammed to their hardwood floors, can feel blood smearing across his stinging chin, hands behind his back and his alpha’s knee digging into his back.

“You will _not_ go to Stiles, Derek,” she commands right beside his ear, “You will hurt him if you’re with him, and you could not live with yourself after that.”

Salty tears are running over the scratch on his face, and Derek is having trouble concentrating, his mom’s Alpha Voice doing little to contain him. “I need him, Mom,” comes out a whine, limbs struggling to get free.

“You do _not_ need anyone, Derek,” his mom asserts, “you need to get into the rut room and calm yourself down.

Derek is so wound up, and being held still is draining him, so he can only sob out to take him to the saferoom. He tries to convince himself that it won’t kill him.

––

The morning’s a cold, rainy start to winter break, and Derek awakes just after the sun. He’s curled up at the breakfast nook, forehead numbing against the window, when he hears his mom patter down the stairs, waits for her inevitable interrogation.

She kisses the crown of his head, moseys on into the kitchen to start up a pot of coffee.

He watches rain disrupt the tree leaves and darken garden stones. And even with his _mother_ in the same room he can’t get it out of his head. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists, but there are still phantom flashes of pale skin and tiny fingers and -- Derek drags a gash into his palm to distract himself.

“Derek?” his mom calls, alarmed by the smell of blood, most likely.

There are tears blurring his vision, hot on his cheeks, and he _hates_ himself. _Pink lips, button nose_. Jesus _fucking_ Christ, he’s so _sick_.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mom sighs, dropping to her knees and pulling his fingers from around his opposite wrist. “Your father and I need to talk to you.”

Derek’s stomach plummets. They’re going to disown him as their son or kick him out of the pack, or he’ll never be able to see Stiles again.

“It’s going to be okay, son,” his mom reassures, likely guilted by the stench of Derek’s fear, “this news should help you make sense of things.”

Thirty minutes later his parents have pulled up barstools and are facing Derek while he continues to stare out the window.

A few moments of deafening silence drag on before, “Son,” his father starts, “we should have talked to you about this sooner, but the odds were so low that we didn’t want to say anything until we were sure.”

“And we only began thinking about the possibility seriously after Claudia began getting tests done and Deaton revealed she has druid blood,” his mom cuts in, “Do you remember when we explained that she wasn’t sick, just that her spark was manifesting in odd ways?”

Derek does, but he’s reluctant to nod because he’s not sure where this is going. What, are they going to allow Mrs. Claudia the honors of torturing him because he’s a disgusting pervert who can’t stop thinking about her four-year-old son?

“The thing is,” his dad picks back up, hands clasped in his lap as he leans forward, “the percentage of Supernaturals who find their Soulmates in humans is incredibly rare. A Supernatural may take a human as a mate, but who they mate with is a choice whereas no one has any choice in whether or not he or she has a Soulmate.”

Perhaps his brain has been frozen completely by the window, because Derek isn’t quite following. He’s aware of this information already, and he doesn’t know where this conversation is going. Or maybe he does and he’s just pushing it from his mind.

It’s quiet again for as long as it takes for his mom to burst with the punchline: “Sweetheart, we think Stiles is your Soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers/warnings: There are no sexual interactions between Derek and Stiles in this chapter, nor will there be in the next, but the story deals with underage elements. Part v hints at Derek imagining an extremely underage Stiles while Derek is starting rut. Nothing explicit is written. Afterward, Derek shows signs of self-hate and slight self-harm. It's not extremely graphic, but Derek does think of himself as 'disgusting' and leaves scratched on his arm.


	2. i love yous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together

  
vi.  
 _five years old; twelve years old_

  
It’s a Thursday after school, and Derek is taking a break from working on his molecule model project. It’s due tomorrow, and even though his mom bought all the needed supplies weeks ago, Derek isn’t even halfway done with it.

Being a newly presented alpha, Derek is far hungrier than he is stressed out, though, so he’s rummaging around in the pantry when his father catches him in the act.

“I’m about to make dinner, son,” his dad informs, lets tap water fill up his cup. His glasses are slightly askew, so despite his words, Derek knows it’ll still be awhile before his dad finishes up with work for his article.

“Meatloaf?” Derek queries even though he already knows.

“Yep,” his dad pivots to exit the kitchen but slows casually just before turning a corner. “You need to call Stiles back, son.”

Guilt heavies Derek’s stomach, and was his throat this dry a minute ago?

He’s aware it’s unfair on Stiles to have stopped seeing each other cold turkey, but Derek doesn’t know how he’d react if he saw the boy in person, smelled his scent, held him in his arms. He realizes that rut pushes his wolf to the surface along with his base instincts, has told himself that fact over and over again, that he would never harm Stiles in any way if he’s in his right mind, but.

Derek tries not to think about it. Which is difficult, because ever since officially presenting as an alpha his wolf has been howling at him to spend time with Stiles. His Soulmate.

If he’s going to grow into the strongest alpha he can then he needs to take charge, though. He needs to be there for his Soulmate. Derek has been running from that fact as well.

Before his mind can change, Derek dials Mrs. Claudia’s number, half hoping she won’t pick up.

“Derek?” she answers, sounds surprised.

“ _Halo_ ,” he breathes out, blood pumping adrenaline.

“Oh, it’s good to hear from you, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

“Um, _w porządku_.”

“I’m glad you’re alright.” A beat passes. “Do you want to talk to Mieczysław?”

“ _Proszę_ ,” Derek answers despite the nerves clawing in his belly.

A few seconds later there’s a shouting in his ear: “Derek! Are you still sick?”

The sound of Stiles’ voice trips Derek’s heart up, and he doesn’t answer right away. “Yes, I still don’t feel very good, pup.”

Stiles doesn’t respond, but Derek hears feet padding on flooring, and then, “ _Can I make Derek a card,_ Mamusia?”

“ _Of course_ , kochanie. _I’ll put what you need on the table_.”

“Derek!” Stiles yells back into the phone, “I’m making you a card so you’ll feel better!”

Derek half hates that he distanced himself from Stiles because the boy deserves so much more than what Derek has been offering him lately. “That’s so kind, sweetheart. I already know I’ll love it.”

“And if you take some, um, mecidine then you can come to my party. I’m going to be five!” Stiles rambles, tripping over words endearingly.

“You’re such a big boy,” Derek enthuses as best as he can, isn’t even lying. Because he is much bigger than the baby Derek got to hold for the first time.

“And Scott is a big boy too because he already turned five,” Stiles informs matter-of-factly.

“Oh?” Derek voices, “And will all your friends be at your party?”

“Yes!” Stiles tries to rupture his eardrum, “Scott and Malia and Cora, and Jackson is coming too even though I don’t want him to, but Mom made me give him an invasion.”

“ _Invitation, Mieczysław_ ,” Mrs. Claudia corrects.

And their conversation goes on like that, Derek idly gluing and labeling his project while Stiles tells him all about daycare and his dinner and his mom being pregnant and how he wants a little brother.

Later, when Stiles says, “ _Dobranoc_ , Alpha,” Derek lets his chest fill with pride, replies, “ _Dobranoc_ , Omega,” and feels in his gut that this is exactly what they’re meant to be.

––

The party is at Chuck-E-Cheese, and Stiles is bouncing off the walls, which is likely why he doesn’t sense Derek’s proximity until he walks in the door.

“DEREK!” is a war cry that pierces the whole building as Stiles catapults himself into Derek’s arms.

Though Derek has grown a few inches and put on muscle mass since presenting as an alpha, Stiles excitement and the surrealness of his presence knocks Derek backwards a step, steals his breath away.

“You came to my party!” Stiles proclaims with such glee, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

Derek knows right then that he can forgive himself, can live with himself despite any unwarranted inappropriate thoughts of Stiles as long as he’s able to make the boy so happy.

And that’s what his whole life has been, hasn’t it? He thought when Stiles was still in his mom’s stomach that the baby was sent from above to make Derek happy, but that’s not it at all. Rather, Derek has spent all of Stiles’ life trying to please the little one, and he thinks that is how he’ll wholeheartedly serve the rest of his years as well.

“Of course I did, pup; I wouldn’t miss your special day for the world,” Derek quiets, makes sure to soak in Stiles’ light, airy scent and relish the weight in his arms.

Stiles is giggling, presses his forehead against Derek’s. “I love you, Alpha.”

The boy might as well have reached inside Derek’s chest and cupped the raw heart in his tiny hands. The effect on Derek wouldn’t be any different. As it goes, it’s all Derek can do to murmur out an “I love you, too, Omega” and squeeze the boy closer.

  
vii.  
 _six years old; thirteen years old_

  
“I love you” doesn’t change things much, as it turns out.

Stiles’ understanding of the phrase is limited, so he uses it to express familial love or get out of trouble mainly.

Derek, for his part, has learned to be okay with Stiles’ usage. They’re both considerably young, after all, and even he hasn’t experienced enough to understand love between significant others – not in the traditional sense, at least.

At Stiles’ age an alpha is associated with protection and strength, and Derek is willing to be whatever his Soulmate needs at this point in time even if Stiles can’t explicitly recognize their relationship yet.

––

“Can I have a cookie? I love you,” Stiles tells Mrs. Claudia when she catches him balancing precariously on the edge of the kitchen counter, hand already in the cookie jar.

Derek should be used to the sight of Stiles in danger, he really should, but his heartbeat pounds out harsher and there’s this raw anger that reddens his eyes, pushes his limbs to shake.

Too fast or maybe too slow, Derek yanks Stiles off the counter and crushes the boy to his chest, growls, “Mieczysław.”

Submissive for a change – likely because he’s in a shocked state of confused guilt – Stiles keeps still and mum as Derek takes in lungfuls of his springtime scent.

Realistically, Derek knows Stiles was in little actual danger; the boy climbs on things all the time, runs with pointy objects, is friends with _werewolves_ (albeit unknowingly for much of his life). But it’s been a rough day, and Derek just finished lacrosse practice, and he has been witness to how fragile humans can be (even if they do have druid blood).

Mrs. Claudia flitted her hand at the display as soon as she saw Derek volunteer responsibility, is now tending to a sick Michalina, who only turned six months old a week ago. Which brings Derek back around to why he’s at the Stilinski household in the first place: to entertain their high-maintenance eldest child.

Once considerably calmed, Derek sets Stiles back down on the island and boxes him in with his arms, waits for the boy to meet his eye. “I don’t ever want you hurt, sweetheart. Do you understand that?”

Stiles nods.

“I know you want a cookie, but there are easier ways to go about getting it than rock-climbing your way onto the counter while your mom is busy letting me inside.”

Another nod, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Alpha.”

 _Fuck_ , there’s no way Stiles doesn’t realize the effect he has on Derek when calling him ‘Alpha.’

Derek audibly swallows, shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I think you should apologize to your mother for going behind her back and putting yourself in danger while doing so.”

Stiles is wringing his tiny fingers together, nuzzles into Derek’s cheek. “Okay,” he blinks his round, amber eyes up from under long lashes, “um, can I have a cookie, Alpha?”

––

“Derek!” Stiles greets through the tinny audio of Derek’s phone speaker, elated face far too pixelated for Derek’s taste. Not that he has a crappy phone, it’s just that Derek would much prefer real life interaction.

“Hi, pup, how are you?” Derek shoves a pillow between his headboard and back, slinks downward.

“I love Scott’s _abuela_!” Stiles shouts, jerks around Ms. Melissa’s phone to half-reveal an old lady sitting in a chair.

“She looks very nice,” Derek acquiesces.

“Scott is my best friend. I love him, and I love cats!”

Derek lets a tiny smile curve his lips, thinks he’d be fine with falling asleep to the sound of his mate’s excitement.

––

“I love this car,” Stiles announces for his own amusement, presumably. He likes to hear himself talk.

It’s the weekend before Halloween, and there’s no place Derek would rather be than right here, right now where he’s got his Soulmate safe, snug, and sipping hot chocolate that Derek provided. They’re leaned against each other in the breakfast nook, Stiles playing a racing game on Derek’s phone while the older revels in the younger’s scent, allows his eyes to rest. He should be entertaining Stiles maybe, but he spent all morning and afternoon training with his parents and Peter, and his excess adrenaline has drained and left him exhausted.

The dreaded _poosh_ comes from Derek’s phone that means Stiles has lost, and the boy lets out a sigh before throwing his right shoulder fully against Derek’s chest, leans his back against Derek’s curled-up thighs.

“Alpha,” Stiles says after a beat, voice quiet, “you love me.”

That certainly rouses Derek. Enough for his eyes to squint open, eyebrows furrowing. “What?” Derek intones rather ineloquently, lips quirking up in amusement.

Stiles huffs again, impatient, “Mama says you love me.”

“She’s right,” Derek concedes, cups his hand on the back of Stiles’ head and smooths his palm down the boy’s back in an effort to stir loose happy pheromones again. “I do love you.”

“Like she loves dad?” he questions so earnestly.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer. “It’s a bit complicated, pup, but kind of like that.”

Big, bright eyes look up at Derek, the gears in Stiles brain churning as he mindlessly grabs at Derek’s fingers because he can’t stay still for too long. “Are we supposed to kiss?”

It’s not that Derek ever forgets how fast Stiles has grown up, but he is always surprised by how advanced the boy is, how eager his mind is to interact with the world and _learn_. Needless to say, Derek is a bit stupefied at first. “Do you _want_ to kiss?”

Derek grows considerably nervous when Stiles actually begins to think on it. He doesn’t feel that Stiles is anywhere ready for kissing – he’s six years old, for Christ’s sake – and Derek wants their first kiss to be something memorable for the both of them.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles finally answers, “Scott thinks it’s gross.”

If Derek can go one conversation with Stiles and not have to hear about Scott then he thinks he’ll throw a party. Beyond that, though, “Kissing on the lips can be meant for people who love each other very much in a special way.”

Stiles nods, stores the information in his brilliant brain to be brought up later, surely. He starts up his game again, and Derek lets a marshmallow sit on his tongue.

  
viii.  
 _seven years old; fourteen years old_

  
“With all due respect, Mr. John,” Derek insists, is trying to remain calm so that he’ll be taken seriously.

“Just John,” Just John corrects gruffly, settles down at his kitchen table with the prime rib Derek just grilled for him (much to Claudia’s dismay).

“John,” Derek tries again, the title foreign on his tongue, “I know you’re worried about him being too young, but Supernaturals grow up learning and protecting the same knowledge every day, and Stiles is technically a Spark.”

“Oh, John,” Claudia scolds upon entering the kitchen, sets Lina down in her high chair, “play nice.”

John just _harumphs_ , knife clanking against his plate as he slices through his tender cut.

 _Focus_ , Derek tells himself. But he’s a growing alpha that’s just really hungry, so he can’t fault himself too harshly for zoning out while staring at steak.

“Relax, _kochanie_ ,” Claudia directs Derek as she plops down another steak in front of him, “we already know we can’t stop you from discussing your relationship with your Soulmate, John just decided to wheedle some heart-unhealthy food out of you since your defense is vulnerable currently.”

John ducks his head in an act of shamefulness. Whether it’s due to being found out or to shovel meat down his gullet, Derek can’t guess.

––

It’s a week later in the dead of winter when Derek decides he should have the Soulmate talk with Stiles sooner rather than later. He hopes shedding his human skin and running a few dozen miles in his wolf form will settle him, excite him, prepare him on his way to the Stilinski residence.

There might be something symbolic found in Derek trying to plant the seed of something he holds dear when there is little available resources for living, but he isn’t too good with poetry, so.

Derek just knows that his wolf’s coat is warm, and the dusting of snow against his paws in refreshing, and his heart pounds faster the closer he gets to his Soulmate, his sweet springtime.

“ _Tata, is Derek having a sleepover with me tonight_?” Derek can hear Stiles query from a mile out.

“Hm?” John intones, likely distracted by case files or the t.v. “I didn’t hear anything about it.”

Stiles waits a moment, and as soon as Derek is on their property, declares, “I think he’s here.”

Figuring that showing up in wolf form is dramatic enough, Derek decides to knock on the front door rather than just walk in.

Disaster almost strikes when John assumes it’s a stranger and Stiles gears up to run full blast, but all is fine in the end when John steps aside for Derek to trot through the open door and straight into Stiles’ slight arms.

“Wolfie!” the boy laughs right into Derek’s ear, runs fingers through his chilled fur.

“I’ll get you some clothes, son,” John sighs, dismisses himself. He’s come pretty far from when he learned about Werewolves. Of course, he’s had seven years to get used to the idea, but some people never do at all.

Derek allows his wolf to bask in the presence of his Soulmate, wags his tail and lolls his tongue and turns his belly up, licking at Stiles’ cheek when it’s in range. Somehow he even manages to fall victim to one of Stiles’ ‘pony rides’ before John makes it back with human attire.

As soon as Derek’s stood on two feet again the possible bad outcomes of his news return to mind, but he’s already at Stiles’ house, and his wolf will be aggravated on top of mopey if he doesn’t lay his heart in his paw right this second.

Stiles is moving furniture around as soon as they walk into his room, rambling about how he and Scott built a fort last weekend and how he knows Derek will love it.

“Hey, pup,” Derek starts while unfolding a spare sheet he grabbed from the hall closet, “What do you know about mates?”

“Um, Mama said that they love each other very much,” Stiles answers, “and you can be a wolf in the fort if you want, too.”

“Yes,” Derek acknowledges, “When a werewolf gets married to someone, they call that person their mate, and mates are special because they love each other differently than you love your friends or your parents.”

“That’s what your mom and dad call each other,” Stiles states, pushes all of his stuffed animals off his bed and onto the floor. “Do they love each other very much?”

“They do.” A moment of relative silence lapses as Derek throws the white sheet over Stiles’ nightstand and left bedposts, pushes his desk chair against the wall so that the sheet is spread into a lopsided cave roof. “But there’s an extra special type of mates that Supernaturals find sometimes.”

“Ooh, what kind?” Stiles asks, likely hoping it will have something to do with superheroes, which Derek regrettably associated with Supes _one time_ nearly _three months ago_.

Derek comes back into the room with several folded quilts, begins layering them on Stiles’ floor so that they’ll have somewhere vaguely comfortable to lay until Stiles falls asleep. “Supernaturals have Soulmates sometimes.”

It’s kind of funny that an act so momentous for Derek, a word so evocative means little to nothing to Stiles. As such, the boy doesn’t skip a beat, “How are Soulmates different from regular mates?”

Thankful of his father’s explanation from a few years ago, Derek rewords, “Anyone can choose anybody to be their mate, but not many can even find their Soulmate.”

Stiles drags his pillow off the bed and throws it in their cave, starts arranging his toys meticulously. “How do you find your Soulmate?”

“Well,” Derek just kneels on the carpet, watches his Soulmate carefully. He offhandedly makes a mental note to talk to John and Claudia about ADHD. “Nobody knows how to find their Soulmate because the Universe allows them to meet when It thinks the time and place is perfect.”

Fluffing up and patting down, Stiles seems too focused elsewhere to be paying much attention to their conversation, but once Derek is curled up beside him, a _Junie B. Jones_ book in his hands, Stiles wonders aloud, “Do you think I’ll ever find my Soulmate?”

Derek pulls the boy closer, trails his palm up and down his back. Gives himself three whole seconds of fear before he opens his mouth. “Actually, I have a story for you about when I was your age. I got lost at the grocery store….”

  
ix.  
 _eight years old; fifteen years old_

  
It’s Labor Day, and everyone and their mother – literally, Derek’s own mother, Derek’s always-busy, up-and-coming public official mother – is off work. Except for the Beacon Hills Varsity lacrosse team, of course, because why would they be? Coach Finstock is fucking insane, Derek has finally concluded.

Only last year Derek wanted so badly to prove that he was varsity material, but now that he’s actually in the running for first-string he doesn’t really give a crap. In fact, he was planning on skipping practice anyway, but Stiles wanted to see a scrimmage game, so here they are. Derek sweating his ass off on the field with Coach putting them down profanely and Stiles sitting comfy in the bleachers with Scott telling him jokes.

Rationally, Derek knows Stiles doesn’t care how well he performs on the field, likely can’t distinguish accurately what makes a good player for what position, and it’s _Stiles_ , his Soulmate whom he’s spent half his life with and is always comfortable around. But there’s just been something lately that is driving Derek’s wolf crazy, so he’ll die before he slacks off at the chance to impress the boy.

If he feels this irrational a solid three months before his rut, he can’t imagine what December will be like.

When Coach finally calls it quits, half of the team heads into the field house to shower, and the other half scurries off to their cars to get the hell out of dodge before Coach changes his mind.

Derek does neither. Because his wolf feeds on adrenaline and hard work and the chance to show off both to his Soulmate. So Derek finds himself _jumping_ – oh, God – over the rail and into the stands to scoop Stiles into his lap.

“How’d you like it, pup? He rumbles, nuzzling behind Stiles’ ear.

“That was AWESOME!!!” Stiles screams at him, ocher eyes bulging and mouth open in a huge grin, arms flailing wide.

“Yeah!” Scott looks much the same, “We can’t wait to play!”

While Derek’s giving Scott a high five, his hearing perks at Erica and Isaac moving towards them from the top of the bleachers, so Derek scoots Stiles out of his lap before they get any closer.

Stiles, unaware of their visitors as well as the fact that being so close in public isn’t exactly applauded, begins to climb back over Derek’s thighs.

“Not now, pup,” Derek tries to soothe while staying authoritative, but Stiles just sports a confused moue mostly.

“Lookin’ good, Hale!” Erica wolf-whistles, leans down to give Derek a side-hug.

Derek can sense Stiles tensing up beside him, and the air is suddenly perfumed with his pheromones, moldy and sour and spicy. “Uh,” he stutters, at a loss for what’s wrong, “You’ve met Stiles and Scott.” He lays his palm on Stiles’ shoulder, hopes it appears casual even as he gentles his thumb over the boy’s pulse.

“Hey, guys,” Erica grins at both of them, lips bright red. “Are you two going to play lacrosse some day?”

That gets Scott talking, at least, shy as he is.

“How are you, Isaac? Excited about Finstock?” Derek looks to Isaac, who still has two years before he has to worry about the man as head coach.

Isaac promptly snorts, sits against the rail in front of Derek and shrugs. “The team looks pretty solid this year. You think you guys will make it to State?”

When Derek notices people leaving the field house he announces that he needs to go shower, asks Stiles and Scott if they’ll be okay with Erica and Isaac for five minutes.  
Stiles pointedly doesn’t respond, arms folded over his chest and lips in a firm line, which is weird considering he’s usually happy-go-lucky.

Derek’s wolf is barking at him to _do something_ , but his options are limited when they’re in public, and Stiles is giving him the cold shoulder. So he just ruffles the boy’s hair and tells his wolf to heel.

Boyd passes by him on his way to Erica, slaps Derek’s butt in greeting as if this is baseball, and when Derek turns around to laugh, his eyes gravitate toward Stiles, whose scowl has only grown.

––

It’s Friday night when Derek has Erica, Isaac, and Boyd over that ‘Melissa McCall’ shows up on his caller ID.

“Hello?” he answers, doesn’t have a clue why she would call him. They see each other quite a bit because she’s friends with his mom, but she’s not someone he would think to reach out to through the phone.

“Hi, Alpha,” Stiles voice is muffled more than phone speakers usually play part, and he also sounds timid.

Derek has never really understood why people dismiss themselves from rooms to make or accept a call, but in this moment he wants to be somewhere private, so he jogs up the stairs and into his room. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replies, “I just miss you.”

There’s a strange mix of emotions swirling in Derek’s chest. He’s bothered by Stiles’ sadness, pleased that the boy chose to reach out to him, and determined to make it better. “I miss you too, Stiles. Can I do anything to make you happy?”

“I don’t know. Scott already tried.”

Though Derek was averse to Scott at first, he’s grown to like him well enough. Derek was mostly jealous over Scott’s friendship with Stiles, but they’re all older now, and Derek realizes Stiles can have his own friends. Besides, Scott is relatively harmless – a bit of a simpleton, perhaps – but sweet nonetheless. In fact, Derek has sort of come to look at the boy as the younger brother that he never got.

“Well I’m glad he’s a good friend,” Derek tries.

A moment passes, Stiles uncharacteristically mute. Then, “Can I see you tonight, Alpha?”

 _Fuck_ , Derek wants to say yes. Wants to kick his friends out and leave all their food and video games for Stiles. But he wasn’t raised to be a dick, and it’s already 10:00pm, so he doesn’t think either of their parents would be gung-ho for driving Stiles to Derek or allowing Derek to drive thirty miles. “I wish you could, but my friends are already over, and you’re supposed to stay at Scott’s tonight, right?”

Stiles doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, pup,” Derek sighs, “I’ll come get you bright and early tomorrow morning, and we’ll do whatever you want.”

Still silence.

“Scott can come too, if you want.”

Stiles hangs up the phone.

––

After a fitful sleep of dial tones playing in his nightmares, Derek is awake and alert at 6:00am. He shoves on shoes and is in his car before he calls Claudia, who usually wakes up at the same time as John when he has the early shift.

“Why in God’s name are you up at the ass crack of dawn, Derek?”

Ah, Claudia. Her honesty is so refreshing. “I got a call from Stiles last night, and I’m worried about him. He was upset and wanted to see me, but I don’t know why.”

“He didn’t seem off to me, but I don’t have the same Spidey senses as you,” she replies.

Derek can’t help but laugh. Her son definitely takes after her in the Weird department. “I’m on my way over right now.”

“Melissa isn’t bringing him back over until noon, so don’t speed,” she advises, “Which, let me remind you that driving on a hardship isn’t legal if you’re not actually going anywhere dire and haven’t completed Driver’s Ed.”

“Eh,” Derek smirks, one hand on the wheel as he makes it onto the main road, traffic nonexistent in the morning’s dim light, “the Beacon Hills Police Force is corrupted, and I have my in.”

Claudia laughs.

By the time Derek arrives to the Stilinski house it’s nearly 7:00 because, for some reason, the local breakfast café is slowest in the mornings.

He sits down with Claudia and Michalina and eats the take away, and then he folds towels and entertains Lina while her mom showers. The little girl is inching closer and closer to three years old, and it’s crazy how chill she is compared to Stiles when he was this age.

It’s three hours from 12:00 when Derek picks up Stiles’ heartbeat growing closer to the house. At some point Stiles’ pulse picks up, and Derek figures the boy can sense him right back.

Not five minutes later Melissa’s Nissan is parked in the driveway, and Stiles is busting through the front door, cheeks bright. And then he just deflates when he sees Derek, Lina sat on his lap while coloring. Stiles’ mouth drops open slightly, and his lip starts to wobble, and Derek maneuvers Lina off of him to catch Stiles as he takes off towards the stairs, sporadic sobs shaking him.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek breathes, shock stealing the air from his lungs.

The boy curls into his chest, wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, lets tears wet both of their shirts.

Derek has never experienced Stiles so devastated, wants to numb his senses to stop the putrid smell in the air, but his wolf is howling at him to fix his Soulmate. So he climbs the stairs, carries Stiles into his room, and waits.

When the gut-wrenching sobs have ebbed away into snivels, Derek settles his palm on the back of Stiles’ head. “What’s wrong, baby?”

That seems to shake a few more thick tears from the boy, but he eventually murmurs something into Derek’s shoulder.

Outwardly patient but inwardly dying, Derek rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ spine. “What was that?”

Stiles’ lifts his head slightly, hiccups, “I thought you were _my_ Soulmate?”

 _What?_ Derek pulls back so he can look directly at Stiles’ face. “Of course you’re my Soulmate, Stiles. Why would you think you’re not?”

Bunched fists rub at sticky eyes. “You don’t even care about me anymore, you just play with your friends, and _I_ want to sit in your lap, not Lina, but you don’t like me.”

Among other things, Derek is such a fucking idiot for not realizing and taking care of the issue earlier. And he’s appalled that Stiles would ever think he doesn’t care about him, that he garners so little faith from his Soulmate. But Derek is also ridiculously relieved that they’re down to the root of the problem and that it’s curable.

“Mieczysław, I need you to look at me,” Derek rumbles, hopes his purr will balm while he thumbs stray tears off of the boy’s angry cheek, “I love you more than anything, and nothing will ever change that.”

Stiles hiccups some more.

“But you know how humans don’t know about werewolves and don’t know about Soulmates? Well….”

  
x.  
 _eight to nine years old; sixteen years old_

  
The end of Derek’s rut leaves him dazed, sleep-deprived, and more in need of Stiles than ever before. But his mom is planning on officially announcing her campaign for Mayor of Beacon Hills in the next month, so January is jam-packed with family photo shoots and community events and service.

––

When February arrives his schedule is even worse because everything they do is _televised_ , which means there’s little to no time to spend with Stiles. Derek can only be thankful that they’re on solid ground again, at a mutual understanding that humans in society don’t take well to the appearance of their relationship, but that Derek loves Stiles very much, and the distance between them in public does not measure how close they truly are.

––

March first is when his mom announces her campaign for mayor, and it feels like all hell breaks loose in Derek’s life. Everyone he runs into is supportive and complimentary of their family, which is because every little thing Derek does is either written about in the local paper or photographed by God knows who or aired on the radio. Apparently the fact that Laura is eighteen and an up-and-coming business tycoon, Derek is sixteen and a promising athlete, and Cora is ten and can paint with her toes is just _fascinating_ to every little old lady in a thirty mile radius.

Derek can’t spend time with Stiles unless both of their families get together, which has happened approximately twice since the start of the new year since the Hales are such busy people all of a sudden.

And Derek feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to hold his Soulmate.

––

In April, Stiles calls to tell Derek about his stomach hurting, and Derek tells him to ask his mom how they can help it.

In April, Claudia calls to tell Derek that Stiles has a fever, and if it gets any worse she’ll probably take him to Deaton.

In April, John calls to tell Derek that Stiles has gone into heat.


	3. What if we run away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Troye Sivan's "Youth"
> 
> Skip to end notes for warnings

  
xi.  
 _ten years old; seventeen years old_

  
“Hey, Mom?” Derek knocks on the door of her study, feels bad about stealing a portion of her time, but at least he has waited for the sounds of rustling papers and typing to die down.

“Come in,” She calls, reading glasses perched on her nose and eyes tired. “Do you need something, honey?”

Derek seats himself gingerly in a tufted leather chair. “I just wanted to talk to you about Erica. If you have the time.”

“I’m just trying to get ahead on emails,” his mother explains, “Marcy isn’t feeling well and said she’ll do what she can from her home, but I want to give her a bit less work to do.”

“You’re a good woman,” Derek states, didn’t quite think it through, but now it’s said, and it’s true. “Have you thought about hiring another assistant? You shouldn’t have to pilfer through hate mail.”

There’s a quirk to his mom’s lips as she pushes her glasses atop her head, leans back in her chair, “I’ll have to ask around for interest at the next pack meeting. But enough about work, what’s this about Erica? What has she bullied you into this time?”

Derek rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “She can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Well, what is it you want to do, then?” His mom plays along.

Right, Derek is unreasonably nervous for this part. He may be propositioning Talia Hale, Alpha and Mayor of Beacon Hills, but she’s also his mother. “Erica’s seizures have been growing in severity,” Derek scrapes out, scratches at the red arm of the chair.

“Has her doctor said anything new about it?” his mom leans elbow on desk and sets her chin on her knuckles.

“He wrote a prescription for a new medication, but the side effects are even worse than the last one,” Derek shrugs.

His mom is quiet for a few moments, assessing. “What is your goal in bringing this information to me?”

Derek holds her gaze, “I was hoping you’d offer her the Bite. Her Epilepsy gets in the way of so many everyday things that people take for granted, like driving and watching movies. And she’d be a valuable asset to pack structure, I think: she’s loyal and fierce.”

Talia doesn’t respond, is just watching Derek.

The nerves that were tamped by Derek preaching on something he believes in begin spilling loose, “Besides, we haven’t added to our pack by the Bite in years, and Erica is a worthy candidate.”

His mom’s smile can’t be hidden behind her hand. “My little alpha is all grown up, wanting to build a pack,” she says softly.

Derek shrugs again, ears and cheeks gaining color.

“I’m going to let you in on some information, Derek,” his mom decides as she straightens up again, “There are quite a few werewolves in politics. Yes, we hear rumors of congressmen and governors being Supernaturals, but the general Supernatural population doesn’t realize that in just about every state Supes make up the majority of small government.”

Nodding along, Derek is trying to piece together where this is going.

“I’m telling you this, son, because I’ve been in contact with Northern California mayors as well as the governor, who plans to reach out to our surrounding states.” She stops, emphasizes her next phrase, “Because there is discussion of Supernaturals coming out of hiding.”

For as much as Derek dislikes that the stereotypical alpha can be labeled as all brawn and no brain, Derek does little to disprove the stigma as he sits dumbfounded in his mother’s home office, mouth open and heart pumping firmer.

“When that happens,” she continues, likely taking pity on him, “there will be people who love us, hate us, and want to become us. There might just be created a national waitlist for the bite ranked by severity of need among other factors.”

“Would there be regional lists as well, or would people need to be put on one list and then delegated to the Alphas closest to them?” Derek manages to form a thought.

“We’ve not gone far enough into the realm of possibility of Supernaturals being known for that to even be considered, actually,” She purses her lips, obviously troubled by the plan’s shortcomings. “But never mind the bigger picture for right now. We’ve just created a waitlist for joining the Beacon Hills Werewolf Pack, and if you want Erica to take the Bite, you have to sell the idea to her first.”

––

The following Saturday morning, Derek is still a bit overwhelmed by the conversation with his mother. Convincing Erica of his Supernatural status won’t be hard considering she’s been onto him for a while, but offering a cure for her Epilepsy will be difficult to do without wounding her pride.

Derek’s mind also has to contend with the possibility of people just _knowing_ about Supernaturals. The concept goes against everything he’s been taught – hiding his life away. Derek doesn’t know if his sanity will survive weighing the pros and cons right now.

Rather, his wolf is begging him to focus on the day ahead instead.

John has decided to run for Sheriff, so Derek has been driving around town and putting signs up for him. No one will be surprised he’s running, but it’s still good to get the information out as early as possible so people will stop speculating and start paying attention to platforms.

Despite having to wake up before the sun, Derek’s wolf has been jumping for joy all day at the chance to prove to his Soulmate’s father that he is a worthy contender for Stiles’ love. Rationally, Derek knows the Stilinskis already like him, knows they respect him, but ever since Stiles went into heat, Derek’s wolf has been even more adamant about presenting himself as worthy for his sweet, fertile omega.

No one’s awake when Derek gets back to the Stilinski home, John having had gone in for the early shift and everyone else relishing their sleep. Part of Derek wants to crawl into bed and wrap around his mate, but the other part has worked up a considerable appetite, and cooking food for his omega is something his wolf yaps at him to get started on.

Stiles is last to join everyone at the breakfast table, eyes barely open as he crawls into Derek’s lap, nuzzles under his chin before silently demanding blueberry pancakes by opening his mouth like a baby bird.

Derek indulges him, of course, chest rumbling all the while and murmurs growing in sickeningly-sweetness until Claudia banishes them from communal areas.

They find themselves buried under Stiles’ comforter after all, mouthing softly at each other’s lips while Stiles’ newest favorite show plays from Derek’s laptop.

It’s a recent development, the kissing. Stiles expressed interest in it by attacking the alpha’s mouth as soon as he saw Derek following his first heat. After sitting down to have an in-depth discussion about what they were both comfortable with it was concluded that they should still take things slowly, that Stiles’ body is just now beginning to mature sexually and that Derek will benefit from building up control anyway.

So they kiss, and it’s nice, and their families don’t look down on them for it. And Derek can’t explain how invigorating it is to have his Soulmate reciprocate romantic feelings.

  
xii.  
 _eleven years old; eighteen years old_

  
It’s a week from Derek’s birthday, he’s stuffed on last night’s Halloween candy haul, he’s surrounded by pack, and he’s got his mate in his lap. He can’t imagine a scenario much better, and he takes care to mark this night in his memory.

Every werewolf family in Beacon Hills is in attendance, even those that are not official pack but fall under Talia’s leadership if the need arises.

“Friends and family,” Talia starts, and a genial hush falls over the Hale den. “I’ve asked the pack here tonight to inform you all of something that has been underway for years now. It is monumental, and I ask that you prepare yourselves now not to take this news lightly.”

Derek glances around the room. He has a pretty decent guess what his mother is planning to announce, but most everyone else is either working to conceal nerves or blank-faced.

“Supernaturals as a whole have lived as long as mankind in forced hiding, but there are plans within the United States government to introduce Supernaturals to the world within a year’s time.”

Most everyone is silent – stupefied, maybe. But Derek can smell the putridness of fear and sweatiness of nerves. Stiles takes in a sharp breath of air, and his pulse quickens, and Derek doesn’t have to think about squeezing the boy tighter and rumbling into his neck.

Talia trails her sharp eyes around the room. “Some of you may ask why now and why government intervention. I beg you to ask why _not_ now and why _not_ government intervention. If Supernaturals are to find themselves a respected position in society, we must act now, and we must have the facilitators of constitutional rights on our side.”

During this pause there are slight nods and noises of agreement.

“I should forewarn all of you, though, that while many may welcome us, there is expected to be astronomical levels of fear that will raise hate groups, and hunters will grow in numbers.”

––

Derek is in the backseat of Claudia’s car and next to Stiles who can’t stop shaking. The information was a shock to the omega, to say the least, and nobody was surprised when Derek escorted the Stilinski family to their car and hopped in with them.

“John,” Derek probes once they’ve made it back to the Stilinski home, “I know this might not be the best time, but I’m hoping to talk to you.”

“You’re not having regrets about the Academy, are you?” John stops in his tracks, hands on his hips in standard interrogation pose.

“No,” Derek shakes his head, “training is going well so far, and I still want to become an officer. This is about a friend.”

“Go on,” John encourages while he rummages through the liquor cabinet, more relaxed upon realizing he won’t have to awkwardly lecture Derek about choosing a path in life and not turning wayward due to pebbles on the road.

In efforts not to upset Stiles further, Derek suggests the boy take a shower before going to bed, that Derek will be there before he’s back in his room.

Once Stiles has scampered up the stairs, Derek fills himself a glass of water and sits opposite John at the kitchen table. “Isaac Lahey was supposed to hang out with me, Erica, and Boyd yesterday, but he canceled last minute without explanation, which is kind of unusual. Lately he’s been skipping school and acting skittish when we reach out to him.”

“Er – drugs? Bullying?” John winces. He’s never been good with sensitive topics, but he tries.

“No,” Derek shakes his head firmly, “I don’t smell odd substances on him, he just reeks of pain. But I don’t think anyone at school is hurting him.”

John _clink_ s his glass on the table, side-eyes Derek. “Home life?”

Derek nods. “I know there’s no probable cause, but I just have a bad feeling about his dad.”

Another _clink_ of ice swirling this time, John gulping down his drink. “I’ll see what I can do, son.”

––

_Derek is running through the forest with Stiles. The boy is giggling as he dodges Derek’s swooping arms, and they’re running towards a clearing._

_Everything is bright, and yellow sunbeams shine on Stiles as he lays on his back in the meadow. The smell of sweet springtime is in the air, and Stiles climbs atop Derek’s lap, is smiling wide and purring into Derek’s cheek._

_Then the boy begins murmuring in Derek’s ear, but Derek can’t make out words, and Stiles tiny hips begin sliding against Derek’s until he sits up and rubs his little bottom right over Derek’s dick._

_And Derek means to settle Stiles’ movements, but the boy smells so happy, and Derek tries to move, but he_ can’t _. He_ can’t move _, what the fuck?_

Derek is beginning to panic, _but Stiles just keeps swirling his hips and stroking his cheek_ , but Derek can’t move.

Abruptly Derek jerks up in bed, nearly falls off the side of Stiles’ twin size. His chest rises rapidly, and he soothes a palm down Stiles’ flank to calm them both.

“Der?” Stiles mumbles, turning over to face the alpha with sleep-heavy eyes and an adorably confused moue.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Derek lies back down and drapes his left arm over Stiles’ waist, “I didn’t realize I was dreaming.”

“Mm,” Stiles vocalizes, hooks his leg over Derek’s hip, “what ‘bout?”

Wide awake, Derek is just as appreciative of the fantasy still, and he lets his rumbling chest reveal his contentedness. “We were out in the preserve rolling around.”

“Mm,” the boy sounds again as he rubs his cheek against Derek’s.

With the subtle pheromones in the air and Stiles’ crotch against Derek’s thigh it doesn’t take long for Derek to realize that the boy is hard.

In the year and a half Stiles has been familiar with heat, he and Derek have never gotten off with each other. Stiles wants to in theory, but he’s always too shy to ask for anything sexual explicitly, and Derek is fine with waiting. He loves the anticipation, the build up.

Derek presses his thigh more firmly between Stiles’ legs, and the omega awakens slightly at the attention, tilts his chin in askance of kisses and lets soft moans fill Derek’s mouth.

––

After Derek cuts their frottage session short and releases his own tension in the shower he begins cooking breakfast.

Stiles has an extra smart mouth this morning, likely annoyed that Derek refuses to play with him more than teasing caresses and grinds.

Derek doesn’t mind the sass, though, admittedly grows aroused just thinking about it, but that’s beside the point.

When John calls to tell Derek that Isaac is at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and that Mr. Lahey has been arrested, Stiles drops the act and comforts him by letting Derek squeeze him tight.

  
xiii.  
 _twelve years old; nineteen years old_

  
“Vernon Boyd,” Talia’s voice rings clear, “Do you accept this Bite and the life of Lycanthropy that comes with it as well as accept the possibility that your body may reject Lycanthropy?”

“I do,” Boyd answers, stands tall with his hands clasped behind his back and his head tilted down.

“Then as the Alpha of Beacon Hills and with Emissary Alan Deaton as witness, with this Bite you become a werewolf of the Hale pack. Bare your neck.”

Talia bows forward, latches onto Boyd’s throat, and there is a segment of time lasting about 30 seconds where everyone holds their breath – including Talia.

The Bite wound doesn’t begin festering, and Boyd doesn’t begin convulsing, so it looks like they’re in the clear of Bite Rejection. Of course, not much is known about Rejection, and symptoms can manifest in many forms, but the closer Boyd gets to the full moon without Rejecting then the better chance he has of surviving.

Erica and Isaac begin hollering wildly, and everyone else smiles broadly in congratulations to Boyd.

Not many people are present for Boyd’s official bite ceremony. Just Talia, Deaton, Erica, Isaac, Derek, and Stiles – not because he was invited but because it was expected he’d be by Derek’s side anyway.

Though Boyd – just like every other wolf in Beacon Hills – calls Talia their Alpha, there are many pseudo-packs under Talia’s leadership. Nobody says anything, but it’s understood that Derek is now an alpha with three of his own betas. And because of Derek’s status in his own little pack, it’s customary that Stiles be there with him as Alpha Mate to welcome a new member.

The ceremony’s audience of four is more than enough for it to still be sacred to the Hale pack, and there will be a celebration in the evening for the whole pack to attend anyway.

Somehow Derek finds himself in a group stampede with his friends he’s known for so long now, the friends who have become official pack one by one.

This is another moment he decides to imprint in his memory.

––

Sitting on the couch in his childhood home, surrounded by pack and his mate should not be as irritating as it’s proving to be.

The horrid stench of fecund fear and salty nerves and rotting worry renting the room doesn’t help the matter, and Derek thinks fresh air would be good for his psyche, but his wolf is pushing him to remain calm, cool, and collected for the Hale pack.

With his parents both in Washington D.C., Laura is acting Alpha of the Hale Pack, Peter is still Left Hand, and Derek is Right Hand. Second in command.

Stiles is fidgeting, which is nothing abnormal, but the action is further causing Derek to stress, which makes his wolf angry, which adds to his foul mood. But when Stiles got up for one minute to get a drink from the kitchen Derek’s wolf began spinning in circles searching for its mate.

After Mr. Burns, Beacon Hills High history teacher, trails off to begin throwing patronizing questions at another unsuspecting middle schooler Stiles twists sideways to tug a throw blanket off the back of the couch, drapes it across his lap and Derek’s, pulls the soft fur to his chin before tilting his face towards Derek’s and baring his neck slightly.

Derek is not dimwitted enough to believe his omega is merely feeling cold and submissive. Rather, he pauses to acknowledge how attuned Stiles has become to the nuances of social interaction, how well he’s learned to read all types of people. Fair, much of social aptitude develops as part of an omega’s wiring, and Derek _is_ his Soulmate, but

Derek would argue that most twelve-year-old boys still aren’t as naturally intuitive.

And Stiles just noses Derek’s jaw teasingly, waits patiently for whatever response Derek chooses to give him.

Without thinking further, without the slightest consideration to their audience, Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck. The first intake of Stiles scent makes Derek light-headed. There’s still the base aroma of springtime, but undertones of wood have developed and matured the overall essence. Derek’s wolf is rolling around in the perfume, and Derek is gulping down as much as he can of the smell, teeth slotting themselves over a pulse point to get a taste.

Stiles grips onto Derek’s hand underneath their blanket, and Derek tunes back into reality well enough to tone down his need.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Derek hushes below the boy’s ear. For behaving so poorly all night, for losing himself to his wolf.

Stiles huffs a gentle laugh, squeezes Derek’s hand again. “I love you, Derek.”

A growl rumbles out of Derek’s chest in reply, and his hands settle on Stiles’ lower back and thigh, squeeze firmly. With the meat and strength of Stiles body on top of Derek and in his palms it’s easy to tell that Stiles has certainly matured physically in the past few years. He no longer appears a child, and not yet a man, but he inches closer every day, and Derek realizes that one of the best gifts Stiles could ever give him is the opportunity to watch Stiles grow.

Edging his mouth over Stiles’, Derek relishes in the surety behind Stiles’ movements and the softness of his lips.

Derek feels significantly calmer by the time five o’clock rolls around, eight for Washington D.C. The t.v. is already broadcasting Channel 4 live, and Derek tries to spot his mother in the midst of all the people in attendance of the President’s speech.

The President walks on stage and thanks the foreign ambassadors that are there on behalf of their country. Fifteen minutes go by of talk regarding unity and the history of humankind, but then the President announces twenty prominent people from Nobel Peace Prize Winners to best-selling authors to A-List celebrities.

And then the President says, “For as long as history has been recorded – and conceivably before – mythology and folklore have been central in many cultures, and that is no different of America’s.”

And, “These united people and I are here tonight for a central goal.”

And, “Supernatural creatures are neither of folklore nor mythology, but live alongside the human race.”

And there is no visible frothing at the mouths or convulsing as reactions. But Derek knows the full moon is many days away.

  
xiv.  
 _thirteen years old; twenty years old_

  
“You almost here, baby?” Derek interrogates. He’s not, of course. Derek can feel that he’s still miles away, but Derek’s asking with the vain hope that the fact that he’s not used to the layout of Sacramento is what’s making it difficult to sense his mate.

“ _Define ‘ready_ ,’” Stiles smarts through the phone.

Derek exhales sharply through his nose, pinches the bridge of it.

“ _Oh, relax, Sourwolf,_ ” Stiles chortles, “ _My dad, Lina, Cora, Malia, and I are driving away from the hotel as we speak._ ”

Another sigh. “I knew I should’ve stayed back with you.”

“ _You can groom me some other time, Derek. Right now it’s important that you support your mother before she speaks._ ” Stiles sounds a bit distracted.

“It’s not that, baby,” Derek huffs yet again, “Something doesn’t feel right.” He looks over at his mom who is meant to be speaking to the Governor, but Derek can tell her mind is wandering. “I think it’s bothering my mom too.”

“ _Oh, my god,_ ” Stiles exclaims abruptly, “ _It looks like there’s been a car crash, and the car is on fire. The road is blocked off, and there are police and firemen. Shit._ ”

Derek’s first instinct is to be irritated that they’ll be even later arriving, but then his mom stumbles backward, clutches at her chest, and lets out a soul-piercing wail.

––

It’s three days after the one year mark since Supernaturals were revealed to the general public, three days since prominent pack leaders were meant to speak at a gala, and Derek is sitting inside Peter’s hospital room, television playing in the background.

“Once the rest of the Wolfsbane runs out of his system then we will wean him off of the anesthetic, and then he should wake up,” the nurse explains.

She’s nervous but warm in such a cold room, and all Derek can hear is the news anchor repeating, “ _This was a direct attack on Supernatural creatures, and these hate groups must be taken down._ ”

The nurse says, “It will likely be another 24 hours until he’s cognizant,” and another anchor says, “ _These hunters have no respect for the lives of any species – two humans were purposely killed as well. We should declare them what they are: terrorists_.”

––

There is a separate funeral for Claudia, Cecilia, and Aeron.

The whole pack, the whole town of Beacon Hills, relatives from Poland and New York attend each one. California’s governor attends.

Peter skirts at the edges of the procession, appears in the shadows with his cane. The burn tissue scarring the left side of his body makes him look like something out of a horror movie.

––

“ _It is suspected that Argent Hunters were beyond the statewide attacks on the date of the Supernatural Anniversary_ ,” the t.v. says at a gas station, “ _Arson was involved in each case, and Wolfsbane-laced gasoline was used to start the fires_.”

“People are fucked up,” the cashier mumbles.

Derek drops a six pack on the counter.

––

Stiles has an anxiety attack in Derek’s loft on Derek’s couch when the movie Derek put on shows a car wreck.

Derek switches the channel and starts crying. He can’t even protect his own Soulmate.

Stiles has a panic attack in the middle of the night, and Derek finds him curled up in the empty bathtub trembling and gasping.

“You are not dying, Stiles,” Derek tells him with so much conviction that his eyes glow red, “You are so strong, and you’re not dying.”

When he’s on the decline, Stiles reaches up, and Derek strips them of their clothes and fills the bathtub and rocks Stiles to sleep against his chest.

  
xv.  
 _fourteen years old; twenty-one years old_

  
“Jackson asked Lydia to the Valentine’s Dance with flowers and a poster that said ‘ _V-Day Dance with #4 would be a score_.’” Stiles informs as he opens the Camaro door.

“Wait, isn’t Jackson number four in lacrosse?” Derek asks.

“Exactly!” Stiles exclaims, throws his backpack at his feet.

Derek rolls his eyes, leans over and waits for Stiles to give him a kiss. “Jackson’s a douche, and Lydia will figure that out eventually.”

“Oh, she knows,” Stiles gives a second peck before straightening up to put his seatbelt on, “but she’s got to maintain her rank as queen bee.”

Derek drives out of the high school parking lot and towards the elementary school, keeps an eye out for Cora’s brand new Lexus in case he needs to warn local telephone poles that she’s on the loose.

“Did you want me to ask you to the dance, baby?” Derek does his own version of simpering, which is as dry as possible.

“I want you to fuck me in the Camaro,” Stiles ripostes, reaches over to palm Derek’s dick.

Choking on air, Derek slaps the boy’s hand away. He’s been incredibly frisky lately, and Derek can’t tell if it’s more pent-up anger at the world or the fact that he’s a teenage boy. Or the fact that his heat should be starting any day now.

“Don’t tempt me while I’m on duty,” Derek half-jokes as he rolls up in the car lane at Beacon Hills Elementary, “You know I still have to file paperwork while you goof off at my desk.”

“You would die of boredom without our four-to-six quality time,” Stiles hikes his nose in the air, and he’s not wrong.

“Hey, Lina, how was your day?” Derek asks the fourth grader.

“We had art class today, so I made a picture of my family,” she beams, pig-tailed blonde hair flopping and dark blue eyes sparkling.

John is wearing his Sheriff’s badge, Stiles has on plaid, Lina is holding both of their hands, and Claudia is flying high in the sky with her angel wings.

––

Planning how to celebrate Valentine’s Day hadn’t been the easiest thing Derek’s ever done just because the ages he and Stiles are at don’t generally coincide with the same desires. He loves his Soulmate with every fiber of his being, and he likes that their situation is unique, but there is quite a big difference between what a high school freshman and a college-senior-aged person dreams of for Valentine’s Day.

For instance, even though Stiles says he’s okay with just a dinner at Derek’s place, Derek knows that when you’re in high school it’s always nice to feel validated and loved. So he pulls up in his Camaro and leather jacket to BH Supe’s courtyard, leans against his hood, and places their lunch order there as well while he waits for Stiles to get in the car.

It’s one thing to be vaguely aware that Stiles is associated with the Hale Pack and another thing entirely to see with your own eyes that he is not lying when he says he bones Derek Hale, Derek assumes, because as soon as Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist Derek can feel a thousand pairs of eyes on them.

Stiles is a beaming smile and smug eyes and slick tongue, and he whispers, “I just earned a lot of cool points, Alpha.”

Derek takes him to a park so they can eat curly fries, and Stiles spends the day trying to beat Derek in lacrosse and making Derek stand by the playground so he can laugh at how ridiculous Derek looks trying to fit on the swing.

They go by the cemetery and leave fresh flowers at three graves.

Later that night they get dressed up and drive to Beacon Heights to have dinner at a steakhouse, and Derek won’t let Stiles try the wine no matter how well he bats his long lashes and says “ _Please, Alpha_ ” and nudges his foot at Derek’s leg under the veil of the long white tablecloth.

They’re quick to undress once back at Derek’s loft, and they lounge on the couch with _Star Wars_ on, and Stiles curves so perfectly in Derek’s arms that they find themselves rolling around in Derek’s bed sooner than expected.

It’s less than a week after Stiles’ heat, and the boy always moans about how his toys just don’t fuck it out of him well enough, so it’s no surprise that Derek’s control slips when he smells the fresh slick on Stiles’ pussy – sweet as its natural essence but cinnamon-y from lingering heat.

Derek’s fingertips dig into Stiles’ hips as he flips the boy onto his back and begins rutting his aching dick between Stiles’ pretty pink folds, and he feels so out of control, so he clamps down onto Stiles’ neck and growls until Stiles convulses and Derek lands spunk all over the boy’s belly.

“Ah,” Stiles sighs, sounds so utterly relieved that a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, “Thank you, Alpha.”

Derek can only rumble back, rubs his seed into Stiles’ skin.

Even later Derek jumps into action every time Stiles’ so much as glances towards something, and he feeds the omega chocolate in the bathtub and watches as he spits wine onto his bubble beard, and Derek can’t imagine how he could be any more enamored than he is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor character deaths


	4. My Youth Is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Troye Sivan's "Youth"

  
xvi.  
 _fifteen years old; twenty-two years old_

  
“How’d it go?” Derek asks Stiles, arm hanging out his open window.

Stiles greets with a chaste peck, “Good, and I’ll gladly expand on that, but I see curly fries with my name on them in your passenger seat, so I’ll be right back.”

Derek chuckles, smacks at Stiles’ ass when he turns away.

The late May weather is sunny with a light breeze, and Derek has wasted his morning sleeping in. As much as he’d like to spend the totality of his free days with Stiles, Derek had some paperwork he needed to stop putting off, and Stiles had a Spark lesson with Deaton, so it’s only now – 1:00pm – that they’re able to see each other.

Stiles shoves his hand into the fast food bag – likely upturning the other fries and burgers – before he even climbs into the car, and then he moans obscenely. “I love you so much, Der.”

No matter the context, Derek thinks his heart will always clench up and stutter whenever he hears those words from his Soulmate.

“I love you too,” Derek murmurs, rests his palm on Stiles’ knee while the other hangs lazily over the steering wheel, “I’m happy to feed you, baby; you know that.”

Stiles places his own hand on top of Derek’s.

The food has been decimated and a t.v. show has just been decided on when Stiles starts expanding on what he did with Deaton: “We worked with mountain ash, which was hard for me to get the hang of at first, but I think I know how to channel my magic better now.”

“Do you think it’s a bit like finding an anchor?” Derek has his elbow on the back of the couch, head resting on his palm as he faces Stiles.

Stiles bobs his head in a so-so gesture. “Maybe, but not exactly. It’s like werewolves have anchors so that they can resist the pull of magic overtaking them completely, but druids have the opposite problem because they have to work to try to draw power and utilize it – at least for me. I’m sure there are druids who need anchors to tone down their magic use just because they’re so attractive of it.”

Admittedly mesmerized by the movement of Stiles’ hands and lips and the sound of his voice, Derek has a bit of trouble forming an intelligent, contributing comment. “I think you could look at your magic channeling and my anchor as the same thing: werewolves may resist magic more often and druids may manifest it more often, but both have to find a balance between natural and supernatural.”

Nodding along precedes a small grin overtaking Stiles’ face, piercing eyes gazing up beneath fanned eyelashes. “Look at my boyfriend,” Stiles hums coyly, “he’s so clever.”

Derek rolls his eyes in hopes of keeping his blush at bay, but Stiles follows as Derek leans back against the couch, has a glint in his eye and a twist in his smile that someone should have forewarned him about.

––

Looking back, the fact that Derek couldn’t sense Stiles at all should have been the neon pulsing sign that clued him in. Not to mention the fact that Stiles hadn’t answered his call earlier and instead texted back an excuse about studying with Scott.

“ _Studying with Scott,_ ” Derek growls to himself, half wishes the officers didn’t have to pair up tonight just so he could wring Stiles’ neck without being frowned at in the process.

“What, did you lose the trail?” Parrish worries, might as well be Derek’s Siamese Twin for how close he’s standing.

Derek doesn’t dignify that with a response and instead begins stomping off towards the scent and the heartbeat he’s known since he was seven years old.

The scent and heartbeat that belongs to the person that is in the middle of the Goddamned woods after his father and Derek ordered him not to go into the woods because the Beacon Hills Police Department are currently searching said area for a dead body that resulted from a rogue Alpha.

Derek is shaking he’s so angry, wolf right at the surface and in agreement. All night he’s had a bad feeling. Not one of fear or territorialism, which would be the case if another alpha were anywhere near, but of gut-wrenching worry and pure incensement.

Time seems to skip: One moment Stiles isn’t even in sight yet, and the next Derek is slamming the boy up against a tree and _roar_ ing in his face, but then his teeth are on Stiles’ neck, and Stiles is running fingers through his hair. And he can feel himself shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s from anger at Stiles putting himself in danger or utter relief at having his omega safe in his arms.

Parrish must have called for backup because the Sheriff shows up to yell at Stiles, but Derek’s wolf isn’t taking kindly to any form of threat, so he growls back, uses his hulking form to keep Stiles hidden from sight.

Under the pretense of taking the boys home, John lets Derek off shift early. But they all know John would be reaming Stiles and Scott out if they weren’t still in a threatening environment and a dead body wasn’t ten feet away.

Derek doesn’t bother to take the squad car back to the station, makes Scott and Stiles sit in the back as he drives Scott home in silence, both boys reeking of guilt so heavily that Derek cracks open his windows. He plans to be back on duty as early as possible tomorrow to make up his hours anyway.

Once at the loft, Derek spanks Stiles for the third time in all of their life together, but he thinks it’s the only one that actually counts. Partially because Stiles begs for it, sobs his guilt out, and partially because it leads to sex.

––

The fact that Stiles and Scott go back into the woods the following morning at all is of second importance considering Scott gets bitten by the rogue Alpha in the process.

Stiles can only hold himself back for a month – long enough for Scott to grow more accustomed to Lycan life and appreciate its aspects – before he’s bragging about being the one that wounded the Alpha enough to trap him in mountain ash so that he could be collected by the police force.

  
xvii.  
 _sixteen years old; twenty-three years old_

  
John huffs loudly as he thumps down into his chair at the kitchen table, clasps his hands together in front of him. He glances at his hands, then Derek, then the table, then Stiles. Grunts.

Derek can read that John’s pheromones smell primarily of discomfort, so he knows that no one is in dire trouble, but Stiles is bouncing his knee against Derek’s leg due to rising nerves, so Derek bites the bullet: “What is it you want to talk about, John?”

The man glances back at his hands, then Derek.

Derek thinks to ask him later on his interrogation techniques. Really.

“The legal age of consent in California is eighteen years old,” John finally states, is brash about it.

“ _Oh, my GOD_ ,” Stiles squawks and smacks his forehead to the table, causing muffling of his words, “I am _so_ not here for this, Dad.”

This exchange occurs in under ten seconds, but Derek is already trying to pull himself back onto broken ice and out of the tension. With another alpha personality being demanding and his mate falling embarrassed as result, Derek’s wolf is bucking to flip the rickety old walnut table over, gnash his teeth at John’s neck, and hide his omega away from threats.

But the table was made by Stiles’ mother’s father, John is likely only being assertive because he’s uncomfortable, and Stiles doesn’t want Derek to be hands-on with him at the moment.

“We’re aware,” Derek clenches his jaw tight and gives a single nod, matches John’s posture.

John rolls his eyes at Stiles and huffs again, reluctant, “But I know that the situation at hand is unique. Because of the – uh – _special circumstances_ and because the age of consent averages at sixteen across the U.S., I will not draw my gun on anyone you have sex with so long as you’ve consented.”

“That is perfectly reasonable,” Derek nods again.

His wolf wants to mount Stiles just to prove a point, but Derek sympathizes with John’s position as a parent in this situation, and Derek also knows that if a human assumes he and Stiles are having sex that the Lycan species as a whole could potentially be condemned for promoting rape even though it’s leaps and bounds from actuality.

Stiles just screams, “Oh, my God!”

John glares at Stiles before including Derek in his sermon as well. “I hope you two can respect that.”

“Of course, Sheriff.”

“OH, MY GOD!”

Once Derek and Stiles have buckled into the Camaro, Stiles whines, “I can’t believe he brought that up right before we left for me to _stay the night at your apartment_.”

In the car it’s kind of humorous. Kind of. “He just doesn’t want to have to haul me into the station if he sees something he shouldn’t.”

“Well it’s not like we were going to fuck each other in the middle of the Goddamned kitchen!” Stiles announces with the throwing of his hands in the air before switching to lamentation, “You’re not going to take me to any hot makeout spots either now, are you?”

Derek snorts. “You’ve always seemed perfectly content with kissing me wherever the hell you feel like anyway, so what does it matter?”

Stiles ignores him to wail, “How are we supposed to keep our sex life interesting now, Derek?!”

Derek rolls his eyes and tries to stifle his amusement if only because it will encourage his omega even further.

It’s relatively quiet for a pause, Stiles having crossed his arms and taken to staring out the window morosely.

After Derek has parked, Stiles gazes up at him with those beautiful amber eyes and pitiful lower lip and pleads, “We can still fool around a little bit in the Camaro, can’t we, Alpha?”

––

“Der,” falls breathlessly past Stiles’ lips, and his eyes are just as lazy as his speech, but the boy’s grip on the back of Derek’s neck is piercing.

“I know, Sweetheart,” Derek croons as his veins run darker, the result of bearing Stiles’ pain. “You’re doing so well.”

Stiles’ spring heat has fallen right on his sixteenth birthday, so he and Derek have set up camp at Derek’s loft for the next week. The guest room is fully prepped as a heat/rut room with a stocked mini fridge, five sets of sheets, and a collection of toys if needed, but both Stiles and Derek liked the idea of their first time being in Derek’s bed, so here they are now.

“I need you,” Stiles informs, likely wants to sound commanding, but he’s too blissed out from having his cramping drained that it’s more of a sleepy slur.

“Try to relax,” Derek draws to his knees even though all he wants to do is sink into Stiles, completely cover the omega with his scent and protection and _bite_.

Derek doesn’t mind handing over semblances of control to Stiles, lets the boy’s fingers encircle his wrist as he opens Stiles up, follows the pace Stiles sets. If it makes Stiles feel more comfortable, Derek will go along with it. Anyway, another day or two will bring the apex of intensity, and Derek knows that’s when he’ll need to pick up the reigns for both of their wolves’ sake.

Although Stiles has been sexually maturing for seven years now, he’s just so _small_ , so incredibly tight that the head of Derek’s cock has trouble popping in, but the omega is keening for more still, so Derek pulses in and out until Stiles is nearly silent and Derek’s only halfway inside.

Stiles doesn’t take well to the pause, cants his hips up and presses his heels into Derek’s spine until they’re flush together, Derek’s knot already starting to form. Fuck, he can’t stop imagining what it will be like when Stiles is so far gone that he rolls onto his belly and tilts his hips up, presents his sloppy cunt for his alpha.

Their first time, Derek will just say, is not a testament to werewolf stamina. But once he’s knotted deep in Stiles’ sex, heaving in gulps of the omega’s satisfied pheromones, tongue laving over the spot he’ll one day put his bite mark, Derek wouldn’t want it any other way.

  
xviii.  
 _seventeen years old; twenty-four years old_

  
Stiles regrets not setting his classes up to where he could graduate early, and Derek knows this because it’s all the boy has complained about for the first semester of his senior year.

“Would you shut the fuck up so I can order our food.” Derek snipes as he pulls up to the drive-thru window. It’s just been a really long day – he was called to the site of a car crash early in the morning, and he hasn’t been able to get the image of the crushed metal out of his head, blood all over the place.

It’s been four years since Cecelia died, since Claudia died, since his father died. Since they were all murdered, and Derek never had to witness the remains of their rental car in person, but it’s like he contracts phantom pains of bonds tearing apart whenever he sees an accident.

Plus, he can’t relate to Stiles’ high school struggles since his four years were a breeze, doesn’t comprehend why the boy is in such a rush to finish.

Stiles grows tense and clams up, starts shoving pizza down his gullet as soon as it’s in his lap.

And the evening goes on as usual, both of them sitting down on the living room sofa to watch half-annoying, half-vaguely-amusing adult cartoons until Stiles decides to do homework or go on a Wikipedia binge or play video games on the consoles he has set up.

At least Derek presumes that’s how the night will go until Stiles stands up, slings his backpack over his shoulder from the kitchen table, and announces, “I’ll see you later.”

 _Uh_ , “Where are you going?” Derek asks as his brow furrows, as he sits up straighter from his couch slouch.

Stiles shrugs, doesn’t look him in the eye, “Home.”

“It’s Friday night,” Derek deadpans.

“Yeah,” Stiles fidgets his hands a bit.

Derek pushes himself from his seat. “Is your dad even there?”

“Is this Twenty Questions?” Stiles snarks.

Derek sighs, rubs a hand down his face, tries a different approach. “I don’t like you driving so late, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugs again, says, “I’ll be fine,” and walks out the door without a backward glance.

Instead of going after him, Derek falls back onto the couch. He really needs a hobby.

––

His vibrating phone awakes Derek, which isn’t too astounding considering he was having a fitful sleep anyway. It’s Scott calling, and it’s two a.m., and Derek is panicked at first that there’s some Supernatural disaster that has struck.

It looks like John had called about two hours ago as well, so it can’t be good.

“Hey, Derek?” Scott answers, “I think you might want to come get Stiles.”

 _Fuck_. “What’s wrong? Where is he?” Derek has already jumped out of bed and is trying to pull sweats on with one hand.

“ _’s that Der’k?_ ” Stiles sounds from the background of Scott’s line, “ _He’s an asshole_.”

Derek stills, trains his ears and focuses his mind to try and sense where Stiles is. “Scott,” he whispers deathly low, “what the _fuck_ is going on?”

––

When Derek returns to his apartment from the station at 4:30pm the following day, Stiles looks like he has just woken up, is half-heartedly shoveling cocoa pebbles into his mouth. Hair a rat’s nest, under eyes colored dark. He looks hung over.

Derek spends the five minutes it takes for Stiles to finish his cereal trying to figure out how best to go about starting their impending conversation. He used to lie to his parents sometimes, he’d go to parties, and he has gotten incredibly drunk a handful of times, but he can’t figure out what prompted Stiles to do all of the above in a timespan of four hours.

Rather than standing up and washing his bowl out when he has drained the milk – which he never does normally anyway – Stiles lays his cheek on the plastic table that he convinced Derek to buy at a yard sale.

Before Derek can so much as open his mouth, Stiles announces, “My dad and Peter were kissing on our living room couch.”

Utterly blown away, all Derek can think to hiss is “ _What?_ ” just before twisting to scour his own sofa.

“At my house,” Stiles rewords, “last night.”

Following confusion, betrayal is the first identifiable emotion Derek is hit with. It’s despicable that John and Peter would cheat on their mates – but, wait, that’s not the case, really. Because their spouses are no longer walking the earth and haven’t been for nearly five years now.

“And I wasn’t making your bad day any better, and you were even being a dick to me, so I went home only to find my father macking on Uncle Peter on the same couch my dead mother begged him to buy, so I went to Lydia’s party and got plastered.”

Derek is lost for words, stuck somewhere between the fact that his uncle and father-in-law (for all intents and purposes) might be a thing and the fact that he wasn’t there for his omega in a time of need.

Stiles finally looks up to Derek, and Derek imagines he’d be crying if he weren’t so exhausted. In a timid voice, one so unlike that of the boy he knows, Stiles pleads, “I’m sorry I haven’t been good for you lately, but can you please hold me right now?”

“Sweetheart,” Derek scoops Stiles into his arms, still bordering on speechless, “What do you mean? You’re always so good to me, and of course I’ll hold you.” He sounds so gentle, so imploring, like he’s trying not to spook an injured animal.

“I know I talk too much,” Stiles confesses against Derek’s shoulder, “and I know my age isn’t exactly appealing, but there are better ways of communicating that than bitching at me to shut the fuck up.”

Derek realizes then where he went wrong yesterday, how he could have prevented Stiles being upset and Peter and John being out’ed and Stiles trying to kill his liver. _Of course_ this all was instigated by Derek acting as a shitty alpha.

“No, baby,” Derek cups Stiles’ hot cheeks, sticky from persistent tears, “You are absolutely perfect for me, and I love that our age difference makes us unique.”

Stiles remains unconvinced, features drawn and worn as he sniffles.

Derek kisses his cheek firmly. “I have no excuse for how I treated you yesterday, but I want you to know that I wish I would have behaved differently, and I want to make it up to you.”

Shaking his head, Stiles says, “We just need to communicate better, Derek. It’s not just your fault.”

After it’s acknowledged that Derek’s bad day was caused by him being reminded of the deaths and that Stiles was complaining about being in high school because he feels like it’s just another reminder of their age difference, and after it’s established that both could have been reassured and made to feel better if they would have just talked it out, Derek huffs an awkward laugh. “I guess that explains why your father couldn’t look me in the eye today.”

Stiles punches his arm and gags, “ _Ew_ , don’t remind me.”

  
xix.  
 _eighteen years old; twenty-five years old_

  
Derek has a hard time choosing the perfect date to do it. Not because he’s especially particular or superstitious (okay, maybe a little bit due to that) but because he doesn’t want to hear Stiles’ inevitable belly-aching if the date is too close to another gift-giving occasion to where he gets one present instead of two.

Honestly, he’s likely just overthinking it. The date of the proposal itself won’t be as big a deal in the long run, and Stiles will have final say in the wedding date anyway.

So Derek won’t worry too much about when to do it, no, just _how_ to do it.

––

California summers are brutal down south, which is something Stiles has made sure to tell every single pack member while they’re back in Beacon Hills for Christmas and the New Year.

They’re not so bad, if you ask Derek, but no one has cared to speak to Derek since everyone is so enthralled by Stiles’ metro stories and famous people look-alike sightings and class schedule.

Derek doesn’t mind being sidelined; He’s always known Stiles is a magnet for attention. And Derek is so proud of him, truly. It’s not everyday you get accepted into UC Irvine with all of your schooling paid for.

John finds Derek leaned against the back of his childhood couch staring at Stiles. The man bumps Derek’s shoulder, and neither one of them say anything.

Derek notes that they’ve fallen into the same posture, one ankle crossed over the other while nursing beers close to their stomachs. Because Stiles’ humor has rubbed off too heavily on Derek he notes that people really do marry their dads.

“We miss you at the station,” John announces, never much one for small talk.

Ears pinking, Derek hopes John won’t notice. “The Supernatural Unit is a mess in SoCal,” he informs bluntly, “I think I’m more useful in Irvine right now.”

John harumphs. He’s proud of Derek, just isn’t inebriated enough to say it out loud. “I hope you two don’t plan on staying there too long,” he gives a pointed look.

A laugh snorts its way out of Derek, scratches his throat. “I think we both know that’s up to Stiles.”  
John grimaces, gulps down some more beer.

Later, after Peter unattaches from John’s side again and most everyone has gone back to their own homes for the night, Derek catches John outside and shows him the ring. It looks old but is a nice gold with intricate details, a triskele making up the focal point.

John tears up and hugs Derek tight.

––

They do the whole Florida spring break, which works out to line up with all of their friends’ free time as well, and Derek has a lot more fun than he thought he would.

Being a cop as well as being in his mid-twenties gives Derek new insight into what underage and excessive drinking does to a person, so he’s skeeved out on top of irked by the party scene, but it’s easy enough to settle themselves at a spot on the beach with other sober people who are still having a good time.

The week can be summed up with sand between his butt cheeks, outrageous outlet prices, and lackluster seafood, but it’s a lot of fun as well: He learns just how competitive Scott is at putt-putt, how viscous Lydia gets when you don’t apply sunscreen, and to what degree of hoarder runs in Stiles blood when he uses Derek’s card to buy half the souvenir shop.

It’s on their last full day in Florida that Derek can’t stop thinking about the ring that’s hidden away in their shoebox apartment. Can’t stop imagining Stiles’ reaction to being asked.

He’s excessively touchy with Stiles the next day, especially at the airport where so many foreign odors congregate and especially due to the fact that Stiles has covered his scent for some undisclosed reason. Which may have caused a bit of a spat earlier.

They’ve just dropped their bags at the front door and Stiles is already calling for takeaway when Derek goes to get the ring.

He should have written out what he wants to say, decided on a poem to recite. They should be at a restaurant right now, or in Central Park or on the beach still.

But it’s too late, because Stiles sees him now, and Derek is kneeling on their dirty kitchenette flooring.

Derek is quiet for too long, and is already crying, he realizes. But Stiles is stood there so peacefully, falls to his knees to grab at Derek’s hands. And that’s what opens the floodgates.

“Mieczysław,” Derek starts, laughs wetly as he cups Stiles’ cheek, “I’ll never forget the day I met you. I was seven years old, and I was lost in fucking grocery store, and you were the only thing that kept me calm and led me to safety, and you’re still the only thing that never fails to feel _right_ in this world.”

Stiles is purring sub-vocally, possibly doesn’t realize, his waist squeezing between Derek’s legs.

“And I know everyone else may look at us and think we shouldn’t be together because I’m a werewolf and you pass for human and because I must be a pedophile that has lured you in and because we don’t fit into the boundaries they’ve set for alpha and omega roles,” Derek shakes his head, gulps down a lungful of pleasant pheromones, of Stiles’ springtime scent that is starting to shine through it’s magic’ed covering, “but you are perfect for me, _skarbie_ , and I vow to always be the best that I can be for you and for the world.”

“Der,” Stiles hushes even as he grips the nape of Derek’s neck harshly.

“Stiles,” Derek puffs out his chest some, blinks away wetness, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles breathes, “of course I’ll marry you.”

They’re a mess of stuttering hearts and achingly-wide smiles, and Derek fumbles to get the ring out of his pocket, and Stiles hiccups out a laugh when he sees it, clutches it to his chest once it’s on his finger.

“I have a secret for you,” Stiles whispers and pushes his long sleeve to his elbow to display a freshly inked triskele on his forearm, “I was always yours, and I always will be.”

––

Stiles spends the next month hiding his engagement ring in random places and making Derek propose to him all over again. They get free dessert after Stiles plucks the ring off the toothpick keeping his burger together, coos and _aw_ s when Stiles friends ‘surprise’ him with a flash mob dancing to _I Think I Want to Marry You_ at Disney Land, and a free entry into a movie when Stiles tricks Derek into kneeling to pick up a penny.

  
xx.  
 _eighteen to nineteen years old; twenty-six years old_

  
Planning a wedding that will take place on the other side of the state is quite difficult, as it turns out.

Derek wouldn’t know much about its qualms, but Stiles is constantly conference-calling with Lydia and Scott and Cora and Michalina and the whole wedding party, it seems. Scratch that, all of Beacon Hills. They discuss venue and theme and catering, and Derek is gob-smacked by how well his omega multitasks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he cuts into Stiles’ FaceTime with Lydia one night, and Stiles just gives him a bizarre look before he goes back to typing part of his psychology paper while offering insight on a different way Lydia might go about exploring a physics concept just before asking whether or not doing the whole garter belt throwing is too tacky.

––

Derek isn’t angry that Stiles excludes him from the planning, in fact understands why considering his first instinct has been to tell Stiles to go with whatever his heart desires whenever Derek’s opinion is called on. So he’s not angry, no, but he is kind of jealous of where Stiles’ attention is gathered.

Which is completely irrational, he knows, but.

Needless to say, he and his wolf both are ecstatic to have Stiles’ heat and his own rut line up for the second week of December.

During the preparation for their sex vacay, as Stiles so classily labels it, Derek misses his roomier loft in Beacon Hills. But their apartment here has character, he tells himself. It has a closet-sized bedroom and bountiful hot air in the winter as well as street noise year-round. Even though his loft is great, this place is the first that’s officially theirs together, and Derek will take that feeling over any other.

It’s after the throes of heat and rut that Derek lays restless still beside Stiles, holding him and committing the past few days to memory, that he establishes for himself that he would follow Stiles anywhere. That if Stiles wanted to become a wildlife photographer Derek would follow him to the savanna, and if Stiles wanted to become a painter Derek would follow him to France, and if Stiles wanted to become an astronaut Derek would follow him to space.

Stiles chuckles when Derek relays his revelation.

He says, “In another life, do you think I was a prince and you were a goat keeper?”

“You mean a shepherd?”

He says, “In another universe, do you think I’m a werewolf and you’re an unknowing human?”

“You’d be an Alpha werewolf.”

He says, “In our next life, do you think we’ll find each other?”

“That’s the sole reason I live at all.”


	5. Home is Wherever I'm With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros' "Home"

  
xxi.  
_twenty years old; twenty-seven years old_

  
Supernatural marriage still isn’t recognized across the U.S., much less the world. The fact will lead to infuriating consequences if Stiles just so happens to wind up in a hospital in Mississippi and only spouses or blood family can visit, and they won’t get marital tax benefits if they live in Georgia, and they might get burned at the stake in some parts of South America.

But marrying Stiles is a formality at least and a tribute to human customs at best: both of them know they’re committed to their relationship whether or not they sign a document saying so. Even still, Stiles demands that the ceremony be perfect, and he’s diligent to intertwine human and werewolf traditions harmoniously.

Deciding whether to exchange mating bites as part of the wedding ceremony or in private had been one of the harder decisions Derek had to make as well as one of the only. They could just exchange rings and kiss to solidify their vows. In the end, though, he and Stiles mutually agree for Stiles to receive his bite as part of the public ceremony and Derek to receive his in private – mainly because Stiles insists on sinking his teeth somewhere intimate.

––

Walking down the aisle, Stiles is utterly beautiful, which Derek expected, but he’s still left breathless.

The vows are a blur, honestly. Derek repeats phrases when prompted, lost in his Soulmate’s eyes.

Latching onto Stiles’ throat, drawing blood, feeling the give of tension in his Soulmate’s body isn’t something Derek thinks he can describe well enough. It elates his wolf especially to be able to claim the mate he has known for twenty years is his, and the fact that it’s in public makes his chest rumble with pride.

He also gets a rock-hard erection in seconds flat, but his compression underwear hides it from their guests, and Stiles doesn’t tease.

––

Derek wasn’t meant to make a speech during the reception, but after Talia speaks on how her and Aeron’s little alpha has grown and John cracks half-butthurt jokes about how Stiles always liked Derek more than him or Claudia, Derek feels compelled to honor those lost in the terror attacks.

“I’m sorry if I’m screwing up the itinerary, love,” Derek tries to ease the unrest in the atmosphere when the wedding party realizes he’s supposed to be keeping mum right now.

Stiles laughs, gazes at Derek with quizzical eyes and an amused smirk.

“I wanted to give my perspectives on Soulmates, and this is unrehearsed, so excuse me if I make a fool out of all of us.”

The audience laughs.

Derek’s cheeks are already reddening, he knows. “Because finding your Soulmate is so rare, most people believe being and having one is sacred.” He fixes his eyes away from curious, intrigued faces. “And there’s certainly something unique about it, but I’m not so sure that finding your Soulmate should be an aspiration.”

Their guests smell slightly anxious, which is understandable, because it sounds like Derek is about to denounce his and Stiles relationship. But Stiles’ heart and gaze are steady.

“You see, having a Soulmate implies that I share a large portion of my Soul with Stiles, that we would not be able to give unto this world for the better if we did not find each other, and that’s a scary thought,” Derek huffs drily. “It makes me weak, which is not something anyone likes to admit.”

Stiles is still calm and collected, and Derek recognizes that Stiles truly is his better half.

“On the flip side, if you don’t have a Soulmate, that does not mean you are not special,” Derek finally sweeps his eyes over their guests, “It means that you have the ability to give unto the world your best without having to join with another Soul first, which is beautiful and significant.”

Most people are at ease again that the marriage is still on, so they listen attentively.

“My point in bringing this up,” Derek pauses to connect gaze with Talia and then John, “is to acknowledge Stiles’ and my parents, both living and deceased.”

Tension again. Nobody wants sad tears at a wedding.

“My father, Aeron, is half the reason I’ve built all of my more commendable qualities, and he made my mother happy for as long as they were together. By the same token, my mother was able to aid a much fuller existence for him, made him happy until his last day.”

 _Shit_ , she’s crying.

“If Stiles were to be taken from this world like that,” Derek clenches his teeth and swallows with a dry throat, “I would not have survived as long as she has. I would not be able to continue making the difference she makes for Supernaturals, and I would literally not be able to give any of myself to another human being, which she has started to do.”

Did Talia want everyone to know that she’s been seeing Melissa McCall? Because it’s out now. Oops. She’s smiling, though, so maybe he’ll escape with his hide.

“Claudia Stilinski,” Derek shifts after a few breaths, “is someone that I will eternally be indebted to, not only because she gave birth to my Soulmate, but also because she took me in as a second son and always saw the best in me. On top of that,” Derek pushes through though he feels his eyes stinging, “She treated me as her friend and equal despite my age.”

Stiles has made a moue of his lips, and there’s wetness shining on his cheeks, but Scott has reached over to rub his back.

Looking to John, Derek continues, “And I’d like to thank you, John, for allowing me to call you ‘John’ as well as giving me the honor of calling you ‘Sheriff.’ I’ve always looked up to you for how happy you made and continue to make your family and for your leadership as a boss, but now also for how you’ve looked out for my Uncle Peter.”

John nods solemnly, and Derek can tell he’s abashed by the praise.

Finishing up his impromptu speech, Derek encourages, “So don’t get me wrong; I love Stiles with my whole Soul, both the half in me and the half we share, but there is greatness in those without a distinct other half as well: they are healers and providers and lovers for the rest of the population, which the world needs tremendously all the time.

“So I beseech you to not be discouraged that you’ve not found a Soulmate, to not hold back your love in hopes that one day you’ll meet yours. Instead, focus on being the best person that you can be because if you _do_ have a Soulmate then that will prepare you to find them, and if you don’t, then that will allow you to touch as many people as possible for the better.”

––

The mating bite incites a pseudo-heat in Stiles that ebbs on and off the first week of June as well as a rut in Derek, and the strain on Stiles’ body makes his regular heat weaker for the following days. In short, the first half of June consists of raw dicks and pitiful handjobs and general misery. But they’re married and officially mated now, so it’s kind of great. Not to mention, now Derek has both his knot and Stiles’ sensitive mark to please his omega.

––

The fact that Supernaturals aren’t accepted in many places still played a large factor in deciding on a honeymoon destination. The majority of Eastern Europe is tolerant if not accepting of Supernaturals, though, and Stiles had an overwhelming desire to visit Poland, so that’s where they spend the last two weeks of June.

They land in Krakow and visit Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial their first full day in Poland, which Derek doesn’t think is the best way to start off their trip, is worried it will upset Stiles too much to find any enjoyment throughout the rest of their stay.

Derek is wrong, which seems to be a common theme when it comes to Stiles. The boy befriends their tour guide as well as other visitors, and he takes the experience as a whole as encouragement to be grateful that his great-grandmother came to America before things got too bad. But some family and even more friends never made it out of Poland, and Stiles recites a prayer for those that never had the chance to see growth in the world.

Meanwhile, Derek’s wolf is cowering at the sight of gas chambers, and he shamelessly tucks his nose into Stiles neck for a solid ten minutes before they move on.

They visit Wieliczka Salt Mine and Ogrodzieniec Castle and Derek learns just how much he dislikes crowds and even more so how much he loves watching Stiles’ eyes fill with wonder.

Derek thinks he would enjoy the national parks most, probably, and when he lets this information slip to Stiles the boy tries rearranging their whole itinerary to center around the parks. After Derek warns him that some of the parks aren’t for inexperienced climbers or even for those who aren’t too sure-footed, Stiles goes off on a tangent about how Derek is Edward and Stiles is Bella and _’It’s not fair!!_.’

Derek fucks Stiles quiet, and they go to Ojców National Park as compromise, which is still plenty enjoyable.

Then there’s Old Town in Warsaw and Wilanów Palace and Łazienki Palace and Malbork Castle, and Derek is fully convinced that he lived a past life in a period of monarchy, because he can’t hear the word ‘palace’ without growling.

Stiles falls in love with the hub of Long Walk and the history of Westerplatte and the beauty of Słowiński National Park.

They go to Książ second to last because Derek loves Stiles more than he hates the smell of rot, and their last tourist attraction to visit is Wrocław Zoo, and both of them are kind of bothered by the animals being in captivity even though many of them were rescued, surely. Seeing so many families and children and _babies_ gives them both baby fever, and they’re later arriving to the airport than planned because it took so long for Derek’s knot to go down.

––

An entourage awaits them when they arrive at Redding Municipal, and Stiles immediately beings bragging about how much better his Polish has gotten and hyping Lina and Scott up for the souvenirs he brought them, and John kisses Stiles forehead in greeting before patting Derek on the back and grabbing some of their luggage.

  
xxii.  
_twenty-one years old; twenty-eight years old_

  
For his twenty-first birthday Stiles gets drunk off his ass and uploads the footage to YouTube the next evening. It’s mainly an intro of Stiles stating he has plans to go bar-hopping with his friends, a montage of him downing shots, laughing, and then holding Derek’s hand as they meander to the next set of neon lights. The last coherent thing Stiles says is “I’m having so much fun!”

Derek films himself taking a water bottle to Stiles when he’s splayed on the bathroom floor at 4:00 am, Stiles kicking out and groaning when Derek tries to wake him up the following afternoon, and the way Stiles scarfs down the eggs and bacon and pancakes Derek makes him for a late lunch.

The outro is Stiles going over tips for drinking including being of age, doing so responsibly, being with people you trust, and staying hydrated.

Stiles’ 20k subscribers get a hoot out of the content, and Scott calls to tell Stiles how upset he is that he couldn’t be there.

––

The first video Stiles posted was footage from their trip to Poland, if Derek recalls correctly. He’s changed the title a lot from “Human/Werewolf Wedding Ceremony!” with Derek biting his neck as the thumbnail to “Being Supernatural in a Speicest Country!” with a vaguely disapproving stranger in the background of them kissing.

Needless to say, Stiles thrives in Clickbait Culture.

Other popular videos include “How to Swear in Polish!” and the Chapstick Challenge he makes Derek do with him, which is an utter disaster because Stiles charms the chapsticks to have no smell because he thinks Derek will cheat, which means neither of them get very many correct.

Stiles and his friends Danny, Louis, and Liam start up a YouTube Channel where they mainly recreate iconic movie scenes. It’s kind of impressive how much effort and creativity he and his friends put into spoofing _Fight Club_ , but Danny’s a film major and Louis is a fucking Tasmanian Devil, so Derek shouldn’t have expected anything less.

––

Stiles graduates from UC Irvine with a Bachelor’s in Criminology and a Computer Science minor. He’s proud of himself, but so many years of nonstop schooling has taken a lot out of him, so it’s understandable that he doesn’t start looking for a higher paying job right away.

Derek has money saved up over his upwards ten years of being a police officer, and Stiles has taken odd jobs throughout his time in Beacon Hills and helped with coding at a local business in Irvine. There’s also the bit of extra revenue from YouTube. So neither of them are too worried about staying afloat.

––

Their one year mating anniversary passes with Derek and Stiles rolling around in the sheets of their bed, rut and heat fully synchronized. Both seem to last longer than usual. filthy desires tumbling past Derek’s lips of filling his omega up with seed, and Stiles only keens while he spreads his legs wider.

Derek feels like a nasty pervert sometimes. Like when tears are salty on Stiles’ cheeks, and Derek gets even more turned on by the submissive display only to be reminded of times when Stiles used to cry when he was just a pup.

Stiles weasels the confession out of Derek later, and when the boy explains the science behind those thoughts and the fact that it’s okay, Derek is reminded of just how much Stiles has grown.

A few days later Stiles presents Derek with a collection of Polish poems, and Derek acts like he didn’t get Stiles anything.

A few days after that, Derek takes Stiles out to brunch and instead of heading back to the apartment makes his way to LAX.

––

Stiles is ecstatic when he finds out not only will they be visiting Oslo, but Derek has booked them a tour to see the capitals of Denmark, Sweden, Finland, and Estonia as well.

In fact, he starts crying in Downtown Oslo and shouts “Tak! Tak wyjdę za ciebie!” before throwing his arms around Derek’s neck, and Derek swats at his ass for always putting him on the spot like this.

––

It’s a good thing Derek booked their stay in Oslo for a few days before the guided trip starts, because only going to the Viking Ship Museum and Vigeland Sculpture Park wouldn’t cut it for Stiles. He spends their free days babbling about _Vikings_ and _Skam_ , and Derek spends their free days preening at the way he has provided for his mate.

Copenhagen shows them the Little Mermaid Statue, the Round Tower, Christiansborg Palace, and – because Derek knows it will please Stiles – a guided excursion to Elsinore-Kronborg Castle.

In Stockholm they visit City Hall and the Vasa Museum and Drottingholm Palace and Skansen, and at this point Stiles has gotten closer with a few other recent college graduates on their trip than with Derek. Which is okay because it allows Derek to soak up a high school teacher’s more relaxed energy on such a whirlwind of a trip. Her name is Carol, and she’s pleased as a peach because enough students decided to go this year for her fare to be paid off.

Derek is glad he decided to extend their trip to Helsinki and Tallinn as well because visiting Tempeliako Church, Helsinki University, the Government Palace, and Upsenki Cathedral is thoroughly enjoyable. Not to mention, Tallinn has incredible views.

Once back in Irvine, Stiles not only manages to upload a travel vlog but a souvenir haul to YouTube.

––

Mid-July marks the end of their lease on their apartment as well as their move back to Beacon Hills and the beginning of their new apartment hunt.

  
xxiii.  
_twenty-two years old; twenty-nine to thirty years old_

  
Since Cora has finished her bachelor’s degree in Brazil but doesn’t plan on coming back to the U.S. anytime soon, Derek and Stiles explore Machu Picchu and Iguaza Falls before meeting her in Rio.

They spend all of August lazing around in Cora’s apartment, going to beaches, and snickering at the other tourists who aren’t as inconspicuous as them. Their time in Brazil is so relaxed yet fun, and being able to experience a much livelier way of life is invigorating.

August 31st marks their last day in Rio, so Stiles and Derek get pleasantly drunk with the friends Cora invited over, and then they have commiserating sex over the fact that they have to go back to their adult responsibilities.

––

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles pads into their living room, “My dick is still tiny.”

It’s a Saturday morning, and it’s October 1st, so Stiles is preparing to set up the Halloween Decorations they bought last weekend. He has actually sketched out where he wants everything to go, and he’s utilizing the two trees in their front yard to hang ghosts and witches on with half-buried skeletons and gravestones under each tree. The house itself will be a little more friendly, lit with greens and purples and a front porch of goofy jack-o-lanterns.

Derek isn’t paying Stiles any attention, truthfully; he’s much more focused on a case file he brought home that is yet undecided as to whether there are Supernatural forces at play. “Hm?”

Stiles rounds the sofa to stand in front of Derek, and Derek assumes he’s wanting a peek at the file, but when Derek glances up Stiles has his trousers around his thighs and a very naked crotch not three feet from Derek’s face.

“What the fuck, Stiles!?” Derek exclaims more cruelly than he should maybe, which accompanies him jerking back roughly.

Taking the slight in stride, Stiles tilts his pelvis further towards Derek and spreads his lips with two fingers. “Look!” the omega insists as if he doesn’t already have Derek’s full attention now, “My dick is still more like an oversized clit!”

 _Fuck_ , Derek’s prick begins tingling – it’s a Pavlovian response to Stiles presenting himself! Pushing his wolf down to try and offer actual support, Derek says, “This happens with some omegas, right? Maybe you’re taking longer to ovulate, like being so out of your element for a month wonked up your cycle.”

“I’ve been regular since my ninth birthday, Derek,” Stiles argues lightly. He and Derek both know that Derek’s theory is kind of illogical, but it’s very telling of Stiles’ character that he’s considering other’s feelings when he has all the right to be thinking only of his own. “But you’re right that I don’t seem to be ovulating because I haven’t bled and my vagina hasn’t closed up any.”

“Are you sure?” Derek challenges even though he _knows_ it’s a ridiculous question. “Maybe it has started closing and you just haven’t noticed since it’s so gradual.”

This time Stiles doesn’t placate the alpha, instead grabs at Derek’s hand, folds a few fingers down, and shoves two of Derek’s digits straight up his vagina with no resistance. “You tell me if this is normal, Derek.”

Embarrassingly, Derek is now half hard, and he isn’t discreet about the way he shifts on the couch.

Stiles knows this, sets his hands on his hips and lifts his brows in an exasperated expression.

Curving his fingers to excite a gasp out of his mate, Derek leans forward until he knows Stiles is listening. “You don’t smell off, and you’re not hurting, so there’s no reason to panic, right?”

There’s a rosiness to Stiles’ cheeks, and he’s beginning to emit arousal, heart pumping faster, but he manages to nod his acknowledgement and trail fingers through Derek’s hair.

“We can ask Deaton about it anytime, or you can research it if that makes you feel better even though I still think it will only freak you out more.”

Stiles musters up a glare, but he’s far too flustered to be intimidating.

“It’s going to be okay,” Derek assures in a hush as he pulls his omega closer still, “Now let me help you relax.”

And he licks.

Later, after the house is decorated impeccably, Stiles and Derek sag back down onto the couch, wrap their arms around each other.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles wonders, “What if I’m pregnant?”

––

Even though he won’t admit it, Derek thinks Stiles stressed out way too much over their holiday card slash pregnancy announcement. Stiles didn’t want to it be _too_ Christmas-y or _too_ cliché, so they eventually went out to a clearing in the preserve, hung string lights and three snowflake ornaments from a barren tree, and had Derek kneel under the decorations to kiss Stiles’ belly. Stiles even laid out fake snow.

Stiles joked about wanting it to refer to the babies as _three ho_ s or _Hale-hounds_ , but the omega knows when he’s gone too far when it comes to his own children, at least.

_Happy Holidays_ the card reads in looping cursive, _from Stiles, Derek, and their three snowflakes._

––

It’s a week before Thanksgiving, Stiles is nearly three months pregnant, and he’s bursting at the seams with excitement over telling his dad. Derek is surprised John hasn’t found out already considering Stiles is beginning to show, Derek feels like his hand has been super-glued to Stiles’ bump, and Stiles has a big ass mouth.

Nothing too grand, Stiles just wanted to get his dad a mug with _Dziadzia_ printed on it along with the framed ultrasounds, so here they are now, sitting at the kitchen table in Stiles’ childhood home with John looking constipated and Peter hovering awkwardly behind him.

It doesn’t take two seconds after Stiles and Derek to get comfortable for the Sheriff to sigh, “Just spit it out – what’s wrong?”

Stiles starts laughing hysterically, which doesn’t at all lead John to think they’ve actually got _good_ information to share, so Derek has to swoop in and save the day: “Nothing’s wrong. We actually have really exciting news.”

John lifts a brow, huffs out of the side of his mouth as he sits up straighter.

“ _Tatuś_ ,” trickles out a last chuckle, Stiles pulling the mug out of his bag and pushing it towards John, “ _jesteś dziadkiem_.”

It’s quiet for a moment because Stiles is holding his breath and John seems in shock, eyes wide and staring at the mug.

Peter isn’t quite fluent in Polish, but he can understand a lot of it, and his senses are keen enough to smell the new tweak to Stiles’ scent and the giddiness rolling off of the omega in waves, eye the way Derek’s arm curves protectively around Stiles’ waist. Peter lifts his eyebrows and smirks. “Congratulations.” Then he kisses John’s temple. “I’ll just be –.”

“Wait!” Stiles shouts before Peter can shuffle out of the vicinity, which at least seems to startle John back into the present. “You know by now that you’re welcome here, Peter. Both you and my dad lost your wives, and I know I didn’t have the best attitude when you two first got together, but you make him happy, and there’s nothing I want more for him.”

Again there’s a pregnant – heh – pause, which is a lot tenser than the first, but Peter eventually nods and pulls out a chair to claim a seat beside John.

“Oh, hush,” John is blushing, “this is about you, Stiles, and I just can’t believe –,” he cuts off, this time because he’s overcome with emotion, “I’m so proud of you, _syn_ , and you’ll never know how happy _you_ make me every single day.”

Stiles chuckles wetly in return, which Derek knows he’ll later blame on pregnancy hormones.

“Or,” the Sheriff laughs to clear his throat, “I guess you’ll learn soon enough what a child brings to life.”

Derek pulls out the ultrasound from week twelve, which is already framed in sleek, dark wood that Derek imagines the Sheriff will display proudly on his work desk. “Threefold.”

“What?” John queries breathlessly, already in awe of the nearly indecipherable picture of his grandchildren.

“ _Są trzy niemowlęta_ ,” Stiles rushes out as if speaking in Polish will ease the blow.

John guffaws.

––

December brings pictures of giant bows wrapped and stuck on Stiles belly and every Christmas-related paraphernalia one can think of grouped by threes: trees, reindeer, gift boxes, jingle bells.

––

February means Stiles is grumpy on Valentine’s Day because he’s as big as a singleton pregnancy would ever get yet he’s only 22 weeks and he “ _can’t even drink away his sorrows, goddammit, Derek!_ ”

Derek rubs his feet and kisses his lips and tells Stiles that he and the babies make him so, so happy.

The next day they take pictures with three teddy bears and three chocolate hearts and three roses.

  
xxiv.  
_twenty-three years old; thirty years old_

  
April eighth has Derek waking up Stiles with a kiss to his nose and a caress of his belly. “Stay here, baby,” Derek hushes, “you deserve all the rest you can get.”

Stiles merely hums, not quite coherent, so Derek slips out of their bed to fry up some eggs, bacon, pancakes. And a banana-peanut butter smoothie because Stiles has been craving that recently.

By the time Derek carries the tray of food back into their bedroom Stiles is already leaned on the pile of pillows against the headboard, and he accepts his offering with a gracious smile.

Derek smooth’s the boy’s hair back, kisses his forehead. “How are you feeling, my love?”

Stiles makes a _so-so_ gesture with his head. “Pretty good considering.”

Derek doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t want to stir up negative emotions or distract Stiles from his food. So he reads his anthropology of Polish poems that Stiles got him.

“When is everyone getting here?” Stiles wonders through his bacon-chewing.

“Around 1:00,” Derek answers, “just breathe the words and they’ll be out of your hair, though.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything else until after his plate in cleared. “Der?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Derek lays down his book.

“I’ve been thinking about how crabby I’ve been lately, and I want you to know that I’m sorry that I haven’t treated you or anyone else very well.”

“No,” Derek shakes his head automatically, grabs for Stiles’ hands, “I have so much respect for you, Stiles, and we all realize it’s a way of coping through your stress and pains.”

“That still doesn’t constitute my bad attitude,” Stiles grumbles.

Derek decided not to reply and instead kisses at his Soulmate’s hand. “We all love you, Stiles.”

After a moment, “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles swallows, grips tighter to Derek’s fingers, “about how there’s likely a universe where I keep trying and trying but no matter what I can’t get pregnant, or where I’m pregnant at fifteen with someone asshole’s baby, or where I have a miscarriage.” Catching Derek’s eyes, Stiles continues, “But in this universe I’m healthy and safe and pregnant with _three_ babies with my Soulmate supporting me all the way, and I shouldn’t be taking that for granted.”

––

Stiles isn’t exactly singing the same tune when he’s in labor on May seventeenth. He’s been adamant about three things having to do with the delivery: that he not be induced, that he not have cesarean surgery, that he birth at home. Naturally, Stiles is fretting about all three aspects once it’s too late to change.

“Look at me, baby,” Derek holds Stiles’ chin and allows Alpha tone to shine, “Inducing you would have caused more harm than good because the OBs would have done it at thirty-four weeks, and the babies would have come into the world before they were fully developed. We are here now, considered full term, and the babies are still healthy, right?”

“Right,” Stiles whimpers out, forehead sweaty and face nearly permanently grimaced. “Oh, fuck, another contraction.”

Derek massages Stiles’ lower back to minimize pain, the birthing pool water uncomfortably warm surrounding his hands. After the contraction, Derek reminds, “Baby A is in optimal position, Baby B is transverse, and Baby C is breech, but we’ll have time and room after A is out to rotate B and C, right?”

Stiles nods along through his breathing, eyes closed.

“So there has been little need for anyone to demand you have a Cesarean birth,” Derek continues, “and we’ve got Deaton and Melissa here with us as well as Dr. Moore, and they’ve brought a mini hospital with them, so there’s no reason a hospital would be a better environment to birth in.”

The next contraction takes over, and Stiles groans low and loud and long all the way through it.

“You are doing so well, baby,” Derek encourages as best he can, “you’re almost there, Stiles, and then we’ll see our babies.”

“And they’re werewolves,” Stiles pants against Derek’s neck while Melissa checks his dilation.

“And they’re either werewolves or sparks,” Derek tacks on to his spiel, “which means they are more resilient than human babies, so they all have a much more extensive range of what they’re able to bounce back from if something _does_ go wrong.”

“Labor is progressing perfectly fine,” Melissa reassures. “Stiles, you’re at eight centimeters, so we’re extremely close.”

“The water is ninety-six degrees,” Scott supplies, medical instruments adorning him like medals, “and the heartbeats are all in normal range.”

Tears flow freely down Stiles hot cheeks as the contraction ebbs away, and Derek can’t help glancing over at the cardiotocograph to note that, yeah, the contractions are a lot stronger and longer now that Stiles is in transition.

“Der,” Stiles breaths, eyes closed as he tilts his face back towards Derek again, “I need you.”

Torn between holding Stiles – his Soulmate, his husband, his bondmate, father of his children – and remaining out of the pool so that he can help if anything goes wrong, Derek freezes, likely resembles a deer in headlights.

“We’re fine down here, Derek,” Scott rolls his eyes fondly, “No offense, but you’ll be more help to Stiles than to the babies right now.”

Derek doesn’t take offense, strips off his shirt and massages Stiles’ lower back through another contraction before settling down into the hot water and letting Stiles lean against his chest.

At 9:13am Baby A has been delivered safely into the world, and the sight of his healthy daughter seems to give Stiles more confidence to deliver the other two. Baby B turns head down on its own, and at 9:27am there’s another precious little girl to coo over. Melissa uses the ECV technique to coerce Baby C head down, and its heart rate goes a little wonky in the process, but by 9:53am out comes a sweet baby boy, and Derek isn’t able to comprehend how he’s able to love three tiny people so deeply in such a short amount of time.

––

The first month is a blur, really. Constant feeding and desecrating. The pack is a huge help, Derek realizes that much. Their babies don’t want for attention and only need to make one meep before they’re attached to a nipple – Stiles’ or a bottle’s.

There’s very little sleep, which is taking a toll on Derek even though his werewolf abilities make it more endurable. Stiles learns to cat nap while feeding and pumping, and Derek takes care of the supervising and diapers.

––

Stiles and Derek are starting to feel back to normal at the same time that the babies’ individual personalities become more distinguished, which makes parenthood quite a bit more rewarding.

Claere is happiest when she can see what is going on around her, and she gets fussy if people aren’t paying her attention. Celina is rather relaxed a lot of the time, and she makes it known with piercing wails when her tummy is hungry. Calum always wants to be held, wants skin to skin, and he makes these pitiful whimpering sounds when he isn’t swaddled as tight as a freaking torpedo.

––

Celina is first to begin crawling – probably because she likes her alone time but can’t ever seem to escape her siblings, Stiles likes to joke.

Claere is not far behind her sister though, because she’s a little too nosey and competitive for her own good, Derek always replies.

Calum doesn’t have a desire to move around because he prefers to be cozied against someone’s chest.

“That’s why he likes you better,” Stiles snipes one day, “because I only have so many hands but you hold him as soon as you get home from work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles,” Derek laughs back, “he spends half his time in my arms rooting around.”

––

Their holiday cards are a lot more difficult to take this year, but they also turn out three times as cute.

  
xxv.  
_twenty-four years old; thirty-one years old_

  
Stiles is a teary mess leading up to the triplets’ birthday. At first because mother’s day is right around the corner and Stiles wishes Claudia were present to see her grandchildren, worries over whether or not she’d be pleased at how Stiles has turned out. Later it’s because his tiny babies have grown so much and he doesn’t know where the time has gone.

At the actual birthday party, though, Stiles is a beaming father. He divides his time between fawning over their toddling children, playing an attentive host, and vlogging the activities.

Derek divides his time paranoid over inevitable tumbles, making small talk with his work buddies, and scowling through the relay races Stiles’ big brown eyes force him to participate in.

Later that night with C, C, and C fast asleep in their own crib in their own room, Derek rocks into Stiles deep and slow and feels so incredibly grateful for all the world has given him.


	6. through time i found you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title after a ziam fic i'm reading.

  
xxvi.  
_twenty-five years old; thirty-two years old_

  
Derek comes home to Stiles crying while hunched over his laptop. The kids are baby-gated into their section of the living room, the t.v. is in the middle of showing some animated movie, the cat is clawing at her scratching post, and Stiles is whimpering into his hands.

“Sweetheart,” Derek breathes out, stunned, before tucking his duty belt into the hall closet. He drops kisses on the babes’ heads, each of them scenting his cheek sleepily, “What’s wrong?”

Stiles sniffles harder at that, deep, stuttering inhales.

“Alright, okay,” Derek rubs at Stiles back after setting his laptop on the coffee table.

It’s ridiculously difficult for Derek to prioritize what he should do when his Soulmate is falling apart in front of him and his children are starting to whine because of it, when his wolf is howling at him to make their mate happy but also yapping at him to take care of the cubs.

But Stiles isn’t responding to Derek’s presence, so Derek sets a kettle of water to brew in the kitchen, allows his little wolves to climb onto him, makes sure they’ve been fed and bathed and changed, puts the three to bed, and then makes it back downstairs in time to steep the tea and find Stiles in much the same position as before.

So Derek holds him, kisses his temple and nuzzles his cheek and doesn’t say a word.

“It’s so stupid,” Stiles finally rouses after he’s been sufficiently comforted by gentle hands and grounding alpha pheromones.

Derek has learned not to placate – not with Stiles, at least, who is intelligent enough to know whether or not something is in fact stupid. “What is?”

Another sniffle. “I just can’t get this script right. It’s hideous.”

Glancing at the laptop even though it has gone dark and he doesn’t know shit about coding anyway, Derek takes his time on formulating a response. “Stiles, you’re paid to create websites because you’re good at it, and even if you’re having a bad day, you can try again tomorrow.”

Stiles fiddles with Derek’s fingers while he thinks. “I want to go back to the station full-time, but I don’t want to leave my babies.”

Sighing, Derek replies, “I know the feeling, but you have to decide what’s best for them, you, and the family. I love being a deputy, and I feel useful when I know I’m earning money for us.”

“I never really thought I’d be that dad,” Stiles cracks a grin, “but I don’t want to put them in daycare.”

Derek laughs loudly. “You’re _such_ a dad. Daycare would get them used to socializing and being away from you for when school starts.”

Shoving Derek lightly, Stiles jibes back, “ _You’re_ such a dad saying you feel like it’s your job to provide for your helpless little family.”

Partially to hide his rolling eyes, Derek bites at Stiles’ neck. “Shutup,” he grumbles.

“Besides,” Stiles pioneers on, undeterred, “Claere would try to make all the other babes submit to her, Celina would bite their heads off, and Calum would develop separation anxiety.”

“I think you’re being dramatic, little omega,” Derek argues.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” Stiles shrieks right in Derek’s face, “Claere was stealing her siblings’ food today, Celina gouged my arm when I tried to put her in a bath with them, and Calum started crying when I put him down for five seconds. Should we really add fuel to the fire that is their issues?”

“I say their traits are bone-deep already, so why not pay other people to deal with it?” Derek half-jokes.

Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs, wraps his long fingers around the back of Derek’s neck. “You’re insufferable, you blustering alpha.” They kiss. “It’s kind of hot.”

––

“Jesus _Fucking_ Christ,” Derek breathes as he pulls up to Supernatural Smiles, puts the car in park. He forgot – or maybe just repressed – how bad the daycare can get sometimes.

Among other things there’s a lot of screaming – from babies, from twelve year olds, from workers, likely, and it’s a sensual overload for Derek, and he wishes he didn’t have to do this. But Derek doesn’t want Stiles to figure out how their kids’ first – er – half-day of daycare is going. So he’s getting out of his car and walking in, ignoring the new recruit behind the front desk and barging straight into Hark’s office.

She looks a little worse for the wear, half because she’s aged twenty years since Derek saw her regularly, deep laugh lines and bountiful grey hair, and half because she’s trying to corral three little werewolf cubs, one whimpering in full shift, one raging for her daddies, and one levitating pens with the force of her silent frustration.

Fuck, his werewolf is waking up. “What have you done to my children?” Derek growls, eyes glowing and fangs unsheathing.

“Oh, hell,” Hark mutters, fingertips massaging the bridge of her nose, “Derek, don’t make me regret not calling Stiles instead.”

Derek is hardly paying attention to her though, is too busy scooping up his pups and rumbling them into submission in the cradle of his arms. Calum scrambles onto Derek’s shoulder so he can press his wet little nose right against Derek’s neck, likely won’t calm down enough to shift back human for a while. Claere promptly conks out against Derek’s other shoulder, and Celina starts up a mantra about wanting her _Tata_.

“Look, Derek,” Harks jumps right into the problem, “I love you and Stiles, but your kids have both of your worst traits.”

Bristling, Derek barks back, “It’s their first day, and it’s not like the other kids and staff aren’t just as shitty!”

Hark sighs loudly again, eyes closed. Finally, “How about we discuss proactive ways of helping your children?”

“How about we discuss this with their teachers as well,” Derek states, no dissent accepted.

On their way down the hall, Hark mutters about how loud the older kids are upstairs.

“Let me take care of it,” Derek says because the sound of a stampede is really grating his nerves.

It’s vaguely amusing to witness the domino effect of misbehaving kids realizing that not only is the owner of the daycare upstairs, but also a high-ranked alpha of the territory. One by one movement freezes and speech mutes, bug-eyed little minions reeking of fear, which is unfortunate on their part, because alpha werewolves feed on fear.

Hark is getting too old to handle all of these rage-evoking children, and Derek is too angry to behave respectably, so it’s a good thing that whispers of “ _Ms. Hark!_ ” and “ _Alpha Hale_ ” travel as quickly as the speed of sound allows, which means it doesn’t take thirty seconds for fifty plus elementary-schoolers to be huddled around Hark and Derek.

“Alpha!” someone yells, and Derek looks down to see two pack pups at his waist. “Can I play with the babies?”

“Sorry, Lola,” Derek replies, truly regretting not being in a situation where he can let the little ones have fun, “we’re in a bit of a hurry, and the kids up here are about to get in trouble.”

“Is Ty here?” Saylor asks, using the name most of the younger pack members call Stiles since his name is on the difficult spectrum end of pronunciation.

“No, he’s at work right now, but I’m sure you two will see him on the Full Moon, right?”

“Yeah,” Saylor huffs dejectedly, and Lola expresses so much attitude in her disappointed expression that Derek doesn’t know if he’s excited or dreading when his babies will be that age.

After it’s all said and done, It takes maybe five minutes to assert dominance as an alpha of the territory they all reside in, remind inattentive children that he knows their parents, explain that his two-year-olds will be attending the daycare and sleeping between twelve and two, enforcing a silent time for the school-aged kids between those hours where they can watch a movie, read, draw, etc., intimidate the bratty arguers, and warn that he’ll be finding out who doesn’t follow the new rules.

“Fire that girl with the red hair,” Derek says blithely as they walk back down the stairs, “She was on her phone the whole time.”

Hark huffs exasperatedly. “I can’t just fire my whole staff, Derek.”

“I’ll be talking to my pack to find replacements for the people who need let go,” Derek continues, “Expect new applications within the next week.”

Once in the triplet’s room Derek sets Celina and Calum down to eat, greets Millie, who has worked here since Derek attended, and introduces himself to a new hire that seems incredibly frazzled. He suggests keeping Calum and Celina together so that Claere’s personality will not try to outshine the two of them or – depending on the day – putting Calum and Claere together in hopes of toning down Claere’s aggressiveness and giving Celina space. He also warns the new girl that he can either be her worst nightmare or her favorite parent and if she thinks he’s bad then she should just wait to meet Stiles.

Everything is sorted within Derek’s lunch hour, and he still has time to pick up greasy food from a drive-thru before clocking back in at the station.

Stiles eyes him icily as he leans on the omega’s desk, which indicates he definitely knows that there were issues at the daycare and that Derek will be getting an earful and an ass whooping later, but Stiles accepts his curly fries and a kiss to the cheek primly.

  
xxvii.  
_twenty-six years old; thirty-three years old_

  
The first time happens mid-morning while the babes are playing with their new mermaid toys (that Stiles swore he would wait for their birthday to dole out and then caved to just after his own). The t.v. is on a national news channel, there are scraps of food left on the coffee table, and Stiles, Derek, and the kids are all spending time together in their living room.

There’s been another terror attack, an anchor says, that has anti-Supernatural written all over it. Someone drove an SUV into a witch gathering in a park in Massachusetts. They were meeting as part of a clean magic seminar. How to give back to mother nature, how to clean residue of any potentially toxic spells. An SUV ran over elders and babies and everything in between. Fifteen dead, even more injured, and still counting.

Stiles doubles over suddenly, screams out. The smell of blood rents the air.

––

The second time is much the same. Only they don’t admit that there was a first. Stiles just had severe cramping that cycle, they say. That’s all.

What with mourning over mother’s day and then preparing for the triplet’s third birthday party neither had much time to notice that something was off, that Stiles organs weren’t shifting as they usually do.

It’s a Friday night, and Derek and Stiles are off shift, and their three three-year-olds are at Grandma Talia’s house for a sleepover, so Derek and Stiles decide to have their own slumber party.

Derek is craving a good dicking, but Stiles cock hasn’t grown back this cycle, so he wears a strap-on and they both collapse with stars in their eyes.

“Do you think?” Stiles hushes later, cautiously optimistic.

A rumble spreads through Derek’s chest as he presses a palm to his mate’s belly.

The next morning Stiles wakes up in a puddle of blood, heat ravaging his body.

––

The third time is devastating.

They’re five months along, 22 weeks, and the whole pack knows. The whole town knows. Stiles’ whole social media following knows. Swollen belly and swollen breasts. No, they’ve opted out of knowing the gender. Yes, they’re so excited.

The baby kicks for the first time when they visit the graves.

It continues to kick on the way back home, and they grow in intensity. Are the kicks supposed to be this hard, Stiles queries. We just make strong pups, Derek jokes, smiles at Stiles’ bump.

Derek grills steaks that are rare enough to look like they’re dripping blood, and Stiles shrieks and pours blood all over the kitchen floor.

It’s considered a stillbirth this time, but there’s nothing left in Stiles’ body to give birth to.

––

“I have reason to believe,” Deaton informs, “that your miscarriages were perhaps not miscarriages at all.”

Stiles’ gorgeous, weary face screws up, and his body begins to shake. “You have no idea what you’re saying!” he screams, fists clenched, skin red, “I know my body, and I had three babies that all died!”

“I mean to say,” Deaton corrects, eerily calmly as if he’s talking to a stranger about the weather and not a grieving companion, “that you have become a rather powerful druid, and your body would not allow three fetuses to die.”

“My babies are dead!” Stiles screeches, and there are tears raging rivers down his cheeks, carving out familiar scars of sorrow. “My body betrayed me, and my babies are dead!”

Derek is witnessing all this through a tunnel, it seems. His wolf is clawing at his belly in effort to get out, and it’s barking and whining for Derek to make everything better, but Derek is numb.

“Listen to me, Mieczysław,” Deaton commands, the first sign of emotion he’s shown for the five minutes they’ve been here, “Babies that die in the second trimester must be surgically removed. Babies do not just vanish out of their mother’s womb unless there are Supernatural forces at play.”

Stiles only sobs harder, sinks to the floor and shudders, and it sounds like he isn’t breathing at all, but he can still exhale air in wails.

Deaton must realize that neither Stiles nor Derek are in the right state of mind to accept what he’s saying, so he leaves the room, and after a while Stiles stands back up and leaves, and Derek follows.

––

It’s Halloween, and Stiles doesn’t want to go trick-or-treating. He had a costume ready as a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch, but he burned it. Derek understands, and he doesn’t want to go either, so he calls his mom to come pick the kids up.

They’re dressed as savanna animals, and Talia _oo_ s and _ah_ s over their costumes. Melissa is with her, and Talia mentions they have plans to stroll the neighborhood with Scott and Allison and one-year-old Ivy anyway, and the more the merrier!

Derek is glad Scott and Allison didn’t tag along with Ivy, doesn’t know how Stiles would react.

Stiles kisses his three healthy, happy babies goodbye as they rave about candy. An elephant, zebra, cheetah.

Though Derek admits he didn’t know what to expect from the night anyway, he’s taken completely by surprise when Stiles says he wants to talk to Deaton again.

Yes, tonight. Yes, right now.

Deaton comes to their house this time, which means he has an easy escape route but Stiles and Derek have ultimate authority.

“Forgive me for our last conversation,” the man begins. “I should have known not to spring something on you like that so soon.”

Stiles doesn’t acknowledge the apology, demands, “What Supernatural Forces killed my babies?”

“That’s just the thing,” Deaton treads tentatively. Stops. Seems to digress, “We’ve discussed that there is a force greater than us, yes?”

Stiles nods along impatiently.

“I believe that Mother Nature chose you as a surrogate for other families. Families that can’t conceive.”

Derek’s brow draws tight as he tries to make sense of what Deaton is saying.

Stiles barks out laughter, dry and angry. “Why would I be chosen?”

“You are fertile, Stiles,” Deaton replies automatically, “and you and Derek create strong children. Not to mention, you have three while others have none.”

It smells like rubber is burning in their living room. Bitterness. “Just because we already have kids doesn’t mean we deserve to have more any less.”

“No,” Deaton agrees if only to placate Stiles, “you having children at all means nature has already granted fortune to you.”

Stiles is silent at that, mouth twisted.

Derek is sitting slouched with his elbows on his knees, and he still doesn’t have anything to say.

“Celina is a werewolf with spark capabilities, yes?” Deaton asks rhetorically, “That means the children you create are doubly powerful – triply compared to humans.”

Stiles nods.

“I will leave you with this,” Deaton announces, “If your babies are powerful enough to escape the womb on their own, they are powerful enough to still be alive.”

It is silent, Stiles forehead wrinkling as if he’s about to begin crying again.

“Derek, Stiles,” Deaton urges, “Fate knows what it is doing, and it would behoove you not to intervene.”

  
xxviii.  
_twenty-seven years old; thirty-four years old_

  
Anal sex is the norm now, and Derek’s not saying it isn’t thoroughly enjoyable, but he does miss Stiles’ vagina sometimes. Stiles doesn’t like him anywhere near his sex when he’s ovulating, though, which means penetrative sex is relegated to six months out of the year, and Derek receives blowjobs the rest of the time. And it’s not that Derek means to complain when he’s getting action in some form no matter what, but it often times seems like Stiles is only performing in order to persuade Derek not to question their lack of vaginal sex.

“You don’t have to, baby,” Derek tries as Stiles leans down, eyes dark and mouth wide. He can’t stop thinking about the vacancy in Stiles gaze when he gets too far in his head, the way genuine smiles are so rare now.

“But you’re hard,” Stiles says with a Devilish smirk. No mirth.

“Sweetheart,” Derek sits up straighter from where he’s leaned on his pillow, “I can make you feel good too. Do you want me to go down on you?”

“You can fuck me in the ass,” Stiles offers instead.

And Derek flags a bit. “I’m not feeling up to anything.” He pulls the comforter over him as best he can, rolls onto his side so he doesn’t have to look at Stiles.

He feels like shit. He should be more understanding that Stiles doesn’t want to run the risk of falling pregnant and having a miscarriage. It’s not that even, though, it’s the fact that Stiles is growing distant, and Derek is admittedly hurt that his Soulmate hasn’t been able to confide in him.

The bed shifts as Stiles tucks into his side of the bed.

“Listen,” Derek says with his back still turned, and he sounds quiet and pathetic, “Your heat is coming up, and if you don’t want to have sex like that then you should let me know beforehand so that we can get you set up with other options.”

It’s quiet for too long, and then there are undisguisable sniffles, and Derek feels even worse that he’s somehow caused Stiles to cry.

“Do you know what it’s like to not trust your own body?” Stiles asks.

Yes, Derek wants to reply, I’m a werewolf that could lose control at any second.

“To hate something that you’ve taken pride in for so long?”

Yes, Derek wants to reiterate, My pack name is constant cause for scrutiny and hunter attack.

“To hate yourself?”

Yes, Derek doesn’t say aloud, I haven’t been able to keep you happy.

––

Therapy is good for Stiles. He starts off going once a week to the practice his mom used to work at. He likes to talk about his sessions afterward, which Derek didn’t expect would be the case. He’s just grown so silent since the miscarriages, so maybe it’s a good sign that he’s comfortable enough to reemerge from his shell.

The first thing Stiles is directed to focus on during therapy is the fact that he cannot go back and change what has already happened. He’s directed on how to let go of the guilt.

Second, Stiles is aided in falling back in love with his body. He focuses on all the good thing it has, currently does, and will continue to do for him.

Derek chokes on his coffee when he sees Stiles’ lockscreen wallpaper. It’s a collage of photos, some considerably graphic. He’s giving birth to one of the babes, feeding two in another, and sitting on Derek’s cock in the last. Derek’s hairy balls and Stiles’ ass are right there for anyone to look at.

Laughing, Stiles kisses Derek’s horrified cheek. “My body has allowed me to love you so deeply, create life, and cultivate both,” he explains, “Plus,” a smirk, “now everyone sees how fully I’m yours.”

The sheriff won’t look Derek in the eye for days afterward.

Last, Stiles revisions his past. He has let go of the guilt to accept that there’s nothing he could have done to prevent losing his babies, reignited his passion for his own body to remember that it is strong and powerful and beautiful, and uses those two aspects to embrace the miscarriages until they’re not miscarriages at all.

“There is a universe where I lost my babies and I defied laws of nature to get them back, but that caused a rift in other universes somehow. Maybe I was ripped away from my own world, away from my other kids and my Derek so that I could be with the babies I lost, or maybe I’m doomed to hop realities at the whim of Nature.” Stiles theorizes late at night. “I don’t want to destroy even more but understand that I have provided children for other Stiless and Dereks out there.”

  
xxix.  
_twenty-eight years old; thirty-five years old_

  
“There is a universe where I was a foster child, and I would have done anything for a loving home,” Stiles explains his motivation one night, “and there are Stiless and Dereks out there that want so badly for children but have neither the anatomy nor the finances and confidence to raise any, so I think we should honor their wishes.”

––

Fostering is good for them. They mostly look after young Supernaturals whose family are fleeing hunters, and once the families are verified to have relocated safely, the fosters are sent to their new homes. It’s like the Witness Protection Program, Stiles likes to joke.

Sometimes the threat wins, though, or the original family turns out to be worse than hunters, and those cases are hard on everyone. Sometimes the family is loving but they’re not in a place where they can provide financially, so Derek and Stiles take in their child while they do whatever possible to stabilize income.

It’s heartbreaking sometimes but rewarding in the best way to know that they’ve made a child’s life better in whatever form possible.

––

The triplet’s first day of kindergarten is a shitshow. Not for the kids, but for Stiles and Derek.

Even though the cubs have been in daycare since aged two and attended three days per week Beacon Hills Supernatural Elementary’s pre-k program, there’s just something different about sending your child off to the first day of the rest of their life. Times that by three. And then add one more because their seven-year-old foster is starting second grade.

––

It’s been a year at least since Derek has made love to Stiles in his most vulnerable, most susceptible, most wanting form. It feels like their first time all over again, and Derek rediscovers Stiles with new eyes.

The arch of his back curves differently, his moans are softer, somehow, airier, and the _smell, oh, God_ , Derek doesn’t last two minutes.

They keep going despite, making up for lost time, perhaps. But that’s not how Derek likes to view it because no time spent with Stiles is inferior, and they’ve grown both individually and together so much in the last year.

So Stiles accidentally knees him, and they laugh, and Stiles sinks down just right, and they gasp, and Stiles rocks slow, and they cry, and Derek licks away his tears.

  
xxx.  
_twenty-eight to twenty-nine years old; thirty-six years old_

  
The fourteenth time it happens isn’t like the others at all, maybe. Stiles knows since conception, feels it in his bones, his soul, and he says there’s something different about this one.

Derek wants to hold his breath, can’t stop recalling how badly Stiles was affected for so long, how Derek feels like he was so close to losing his Soulmate.

But Stiles sits his ass down on their bedroom floor and records a video that starts out with “Derek and I had sex last night!”

Derek hopes John and Talia’s tenure in publicly held positions is enough to keep them around during the next election. He throws all prospect for himself out the window.

But Stiles is hopeful and happy, and Derek thinks he would give up anything – _everything_ – so long as Stiles is well. So he sits behind his mate, pulls the boy into his lap, and feels his heart beat against Stiles’ shoulder.

––

When Deaton determines the due date to be July thirty-first all Stiles can think about is naming them Harry and Hermione, or maybe Fred and George – wait, no, I don’t want one of them to die – or Lavender and Luna, or –

“ _No_ ,” Derek growls, and all the expecting parents gape at him in Babies R Us, offended and astonished, “we are not naming our children based off of characters.”

Stiles promptly begins fake crying with this twinkle in his eye, and Derek knows he’s going to regret the statement.

––

Stiles has never been happier to not be able to drink throughout the holidays, and he can’t get enough of stuffing his cunt full now.

Derek fucks and fucks and fucks but he can’t fuck enough and Stiles does the job for him, slamming himself down and back and up on Derek’s cock whenever the chance arises.

Stiles wonders aloud on February fourteenth while he’s sitting on Derek’s face, cum dripping out of his pussy and onto Derek’s tongue, if one child will have satyriasis and the other will have genophobia because all their parents have done since their conception is have lewd sex, and Derek doesn’t even flag a little bit.

––

Stiles loves filming pregnancy updates and comparing his triplet pregnancy with his twin. He also loves filming on Saturday mid-morning when the kids are their wildest as well. Usually Derek will take them to the park or to a pack member’s house, but today all three are inexplicably angry and demand to talk to _Tata_.

Calum is in wolf form with his beautiful sandy fur lying flat, tail tucked, ears to his skull. Claere designates herself the spokesperson for her siblings and stands tall with her arms crossed, demands to know why her father doesn’t love them anymore.

Dumbfounded, Derek just peers into the office room and watches Stiles take the attack in stride, smooth a palm over Calum’s flank and draw his girls into his lap so that he can whisper to them about how much he loves them.

“You know,” Stiles informs conspiratorially, “you’re all going to be a lot of help to Daddy and me when your little brothers are born. They’ll need help controlling their shift or their magic, and they’ll need to be taught the best way to get extra dessert and how to pick up their toys. And they’ll want lots of cuddles from their older siblings.”

Claere smirks haughtily, Celina nods diplomatically, and Calum smiles shyly, and they bulldoze and walk and shuffle out of the room to eat playdough and color on the walls.

“You know,” Stiles says again, looking at Derek watching their triplets, “The twins will adore the stability and care from their daddy as well.”

Embarrassingly, Derek’s cheeks pink right up, and his chest puffs out, and that was likely exactly what Stiles wanted to see.

––

The triplet’s sixth birthday party is kind of a mess because each child wanted a different theme. They end up being ‘under the sea,’ which Lydia planned and gave life to.

The venue is a newer park right in the middle of town, so everyone that knows where Beacon Hills is stops by, including people who watch Stiles’ videos. They take pictures and greet the kids and even give presents, which Derek never ceases to be amazed by.

Overall, it’s a fun, exhausting day, and Derek and Stiles have really good sex when they get back home.

––

Another homebirth they have with the same team as last time, basically. Stiles is a lot more relaxed now that he knows better what to expect, and Derek is so in love.

The kids choose to stay at home, so they have the option to watch their father birth their siblings, but none of them have done more than flutter in and out of the room at whim.

Labor progresses quicker, as second labors are said to do, and Stiles groans and grips Derek’s hand through the worst of it, but Melissa and Scott and John and Talia are there with overflowing love and support.

July 31st, 4:16 pm Baby A is born. A screaming little boy with dark hair.

July 31st, 5:07 pm, Baby B is born. Another screaming little boy with dark hair.

Worse than naming their kids after two book characters, Stiles names them after one book character and one television character. Even worse, he thinks the name Jakub is hilarious for a little wolf cub despite the fact that the Twilight saga was only briefly popular _years_ ago. Baby B, who escapes the fate worse than death by letting his brother go first, is Jonasz.

They latch onto Stiles’ breasts and suckle like crazy, and Derek cries into Stiles’ neck and can’t believe for the hundredth time in his life how lucky he is to have this life to live.


	7. what goes around comes around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their next five years together

  
xxxi.  
_thirty years old; thirty-seven years old_

  
Derek has been interested in Spanish since he was a teenager, but he never could muster up the motivation to learn it fluently. Now, at thirty-seven years old, he has found inspiration in Cora coming back to live in Beacon Hills. She’s brought her girlfriend Laura with her, and Derek is both fascinated by their repartee as well as spooked by the girlfriend’s similarities to their older sister, but he refuses to lay any of his attention to Freud – especially when Stiles is hooting and hollering about it enough already.

Speaking of, Derek and Stiles need a language they can use so that the triplets won’t understand when they’re being talked about, and Spanish should work at least until they begin picking up on that as well. Although Derek thinks he’ll end up teaching them the basics anyway.

Also influenced by Cora and Laura, Scott decides he wants to get in touch with the part of his heritage that his dad never liked his mom sharing, so Derek has another student to embarrass himself with, at least.

––

For some reason, Stiles has been acting like thirty is the end of his life, which is juxtaposed with him religiously quoting that he’s “thirty, flirty, and thriving” at the most inopportune of times, such as last night after he snoozed for thirty minutes with Jakub and Jonasz on his breasts and his laptop divided into two windows on screen, one playing some mythical game and the other revealing houses on the market.

Derek kissed his Soulmate’s mouth, put the boys in the nursery, and slid his cock between Stiles’ thick thighs.

Because Stiles seems to be having some sort of third-life crisis, Derek calls up Michalina on a Thursday night and asks her to invite Stiles out with her and some friends. He had in mind them going to a bar and acting like they’re twenty-one, but Derek is pretty sure they’re grabbing brunch and shopping for Lina’s wedding registry instead. But Stiles was considerably excited to get out of the house and away from the clutches of the twins’ mouths, so Derek considers his intervention successful.

He also is incredibly pleased with himself for pawning off Claere and Celina on Allison and Cora respectively. The girls have been fighting ferociously lately, and as much as Derek knows he should sit them down and work through the issue, they’re only seven years old, so he doesn’t think they’re quite mature enough to express why they dislike the living fuck out of each other.

Since Derek and Stiles have been so focused on the girls and their emotions, Derek thought it would be a good idea to have a boys day with Calum and the twins, which has so far consisted of treating burgeoning diaper rash and turning up the radio louder than spoiled screams while on the way to the grocery store.

Jakub and Jonasz are wonderfully laidback for the most part, but they hate car rides, and they like to compete for loudest cry sometimes.

The shopping trip takes longer than it should, naturally, but Calum is being very patient as he waits to go to the park, so Derek tells him to pick out some ice cream.

Calum presents mint chocolate chip, which Derek arches his brow at because the boy has never expressed interest in the flavor before.

“ _Tata_ likes this one, right?” Calum worries, pheromones lighting with the smell of sweat.

“He does,” Derek reassures with a gentle upturn to his lips, “He’ll love it, but you can pick out one that you like too.”

Smiling shyly, Calum pulls out chocolate ice cream and plops it in the basket.

Derek molds his hand to the back of the boy’s head, smiles down at his blue eyes and aristocratic nose. “ _Kocham cię, moje słodkie dziecko_.”

Calum buries his face in Derek’s stomach, mumbles “ _Kocham cię_ , daddy.”

After impulsively grabbing chocolate syrup and sprinkles at the end of the aisle, Derek is wheeling their cart towards the check out when he’s hit with the sensation of being tugged to the left. There are already three cords tying him right where he’s at including three others pulling him towards wherever Celina, Claere, and Stiles are, so he’s confused for the most part because he’s never felt such a strong connection to anyone other than his blood family and Soulmate.

Jerking his head to the left, Derek grazes his eyes over the produce section in search of his mom, maybe, or Laura even though the former’s schedule is jam-packed with meetings all day and the latter is meant to be lecturing in New York right about now.

He hears it before he sees it, pitiful sniffles just around an aisle that will undoubtedly lead to full on weeps soon. Derek decides to shift his attention back to Calum, thinks to tell him he can get whatever toy he’s eyeing when the sniffler wails out “ _Papa_!” and the sound of pounding feet advances, and that _voice_ –

Derek turns just in time to catch the little boy that catapults into his arms, hugs him for dear life while Calum gapes and the cashier in front of them offers a wan smile to pair with forced patience. The child’s pheromones smell of saline, vetiver, and burnt rubber – nervousness, relief, and dredges of anger.

When the boy finally pulls back, Derek thinks he’s been transported back in time at least twenty years prior to when Stiles was so young, or maybe this is a Stiles from another universe. Or maybe Stiles’ twin from another universe because Derek can tell that it isn’t his Stiles, but he can’t lay a finger on why at the moment.

“One-hundred-twenty-eight and seven cents,” the worker smiles falsely again. She likely doesn’t realize who Derek is.

“Papa,” the little one snivels pitifully as Derek swipes his card, “I couldn’t find you.”

“It’s alright, buddy,” Derek soothes as best he can a person that looks and smells almost exactly like his Soulmate but that he’s never seen in his life, “you’ve found me now.”

The boy shoves his thumb in his mouth and his nose in Derek’s neck, and Derek somehow manages to haul grocery bags into his cart and then into his car before buckling in four children all while in a daze. The boy sits in the back between Jakub and Jonasz, and his confusion over why three other people are in the car is overshadowed by how ecstatic he is to not have to sit in a car seat, just as Calum is excited to sit in the front seat for the first time, although much more poise about it.

“ _Hey, baby_ ,” Stiles picks up on the third ring, sounds happy and safe.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes out, and he didn’t know he was holding his breath until his Soulmate’s voice caressed his ribcage. “Can you meet me at the house?”

“ _What’s wrong, Derek_?” Stiles tone shifts dramatically. Alert and vicious. All of the little ears in the car perk up at the sound of their _Tata_ ’s distress.

“Nothing’s wrong, love, I’m sorry,” Derek tries to cover all the bases, “but I’ve found something that I think you’ll be interested in.”

“ _Tata_!” The boy hollers, speak of the devil. “I want to talk to _Tata_!”

“ _Who is that_?” Stiles’ amusedly confused voice plays tinny out of Derek’s phone.

“Sit down, uh – sweetie,” Derek says to the boy, doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to ask for his name and risk him finding out his Papa doesn’t exactly know who he is. “We’ll see _Tata_ at home.”

The child pouts dramatically but stops trying to unbuckle himself, and he looks so much like a petulant Stiles that Derek is hit with a wave of nostalgia so large he wants to curl around his Soulmate and reminisce about their earliest memories.

“ _Derek_!”

Derek fumbles with his phone and chastises himself for dealing so poorly with the situation. “I’m sorry to cut your day short, sweetheart. Everyone is perfectly fine, but I think you’ll really want to come back home soon.”

Stiles huffs, “I have anxiety, Derek; you can’t just say that to me!”

The twins fall asleep on the ride home, thank Heavens, but Derek assumes Stiles will want to keep an eye on his babies now that Derek has worried him, so Derek settles the boys into their downstairs bouncers and sets Calum and the new child at the kitchen table to color.

Bless his heart, Calum’s father-son day has been cut short, and all of the attention is on the new kid, but Calum asks no questions and takes his lunch happily. Not for the first time, Derek is incredibly grateful for his little calm in the storm.

In contrast, the duplicate of younger Stiles _is_ the storm, talking a mile a minute about his drawing and someone named Mia, and asking where Yoda is, if the new babies are fathersts (fosters?), why he can’t have the cookie Papa promised him even though he was a good boy all day and hollering “ _I want_ Tata!”

Of course Stiles barges in after the boy’s face has turned red and snotty and just as Jakub wakes up irritably. And of course he manages to bundle up both Jakub and the duplicate in his arms with one fell sweep. He shushes and rocks, and within two minutes both boys are calmed, Jakub back to sleep and the other snuffling at Stiles’ neck with his thumb captive in his mouth.

Derek envies the ones in Stiles’ arms, thinks right about now he would fight off an Alpha pack just to rest his ear against his Soulmate’s heart, maybe suckle at a teat and slide his dick into Stiles’ sex. Stiles would coo fondly at first, but after a bit he’d be panting and moaning, maybe even crying. Squeezing tight and clutching hard – just what would help remind Derek the role he and Stiles both like him to take on, dominant – as he fucks Stiles into oblivion. But Derek digresses.

Feeling useless and slightly shameful that he went into a sex daydream while Stiles is tending to their fussy child and his own mini, Derek starts clearing away the happy plates left over from lunch.

A few hours pass of Derek tip-toeing around the edges of his family interacting, of Stiles baking cookies with Calum and the duplicate, of Scott and Cora lazing on the sofa after they bring back Claere and Celina, of the duplicate informing unabashedly that “Aunt Erica says the only one that can call Papa ‘ _Daddy_ ’ is _Tata_ ” before he’s hit with the sudden realization that the boy is his child.

The boy is his child, he repeats as a mantra in his head. Derek should have picked that up through scent alone, but Stiles at age five was so enraptured by twelve-year-old Derek’s scent that it just became associated with his natural pheromones. So the boy smells like Stiles, yes, but also Derek inherently.

Dumb is how Derek feels, first and foremost. But then there’s just a well of emotion – wonder and love and fear. So Derek wraps his Soulmate in his arms and breathes into his neck. His safe haven after all these years still.

For whatever reason, Calum and the new boy really hit it off, so Stiles tucks them into Calum’s bed together while Derek puts the girls to sleep. They’re in their respective beds when Derek leaves, but he imagines one will crawl into the other’s so they can giggle all night long together. A day apart is good for them.

Stiles and Derek don’t say much after the twins settle down for the night and everyone is in their place. They lie side by side and soak up each other’s warmth, and Derek wants so badly to have everyone he loves in one house, one room, one bed, but he also knows nothing can change fate.

“He’s one of the ones we lost,” Stiles whispers.

It’s a statement, and Derek thinks that conclusion makes as much sense as anything else.

“He loves his parents and his life, and we were able to give him to others to create their worlds,” Stiles turns his head to Derek.

Crying – happy or sad or relieved, Derek can’t distinguish – Derek rocks into Stiles and lets his Soulmate wipe his tears.

The next morning, the boy is gone.

On the fridge is his drawing from the day before. The names ‘ _Alec_ ’ is meticulously grated into the top left corner, and a ‘Papa,’ ‘ _Tata_ ,’ and ‘Me’ are drawn. An arrow points to _Tata_ ’s stomach that says ‘New Baby.’

  
xxxii.  
_thirty to thirty-one years old; thirty-eight years old_

  
Ironically, Stiles’ third pregnancy is considered more high-risk than his first or second. They had a scare at about six months when the baby appeared to have morphed in body proportion and there were irregularities in heartbeat, but a 4D ultrasound revealed that it was healthy. And also in wolf form.

Stiles had laughed and laughed until fat tears rolled down his cheeks and he had peed his pants. Literally.

While wolves have an average gestation period of two months, humans’ are around nine months, so wolf development slows down dramatically and syncs with the pace of the human. At least that’s what they can tell from the rare cases reported, Deaton said.

Deaton also suggested giving birth in the hospital or at his veterinary clinic in case the baby is in wolf form when it wants to come into the world, but Stiles got up in arms about how there is nothing unnatural about his baby and how there’s no reason he can’t birth his perfectly healthy child wherever he damn well pleases, and that was the end of that discussion.

In the end, their baby comes out loud and proud and human. January 20th, 18.5 inches, 4:30 pm. Just in time for dinner, Scott says, which nudges a huff of amusement out of Stiles.

“Our Princess Anastazja,” Stiles murmurs with Derek close, both parents enraptured by her beauty.

“We finally got our Mini Stiles,” Derek kisses his Soulmate’s temple and gentles a finger down the slope of their girl’s button nose.

Calum is the most obsessed with Anastazja. He always wants to help bathe or feed or hold her. Claere likes her well enough, but she’s waiting for the day the baby can actually play with her. Celina, far too wise for her eight years, asks if this means she won’t get as many presents for her birthday. Jakub and Jonasz aren’t even eighteen months old, so they don’t say much.

––

The house they’re having built close to the Hale home is large and inviting, but it’s going to take a long time still until it’s livable. Stiles and Derek are lucky that none of their kids have voiced wanting separate rooms and that their office is spacious enough to serve as a nursery.

Exact floorplan is still in the works. Stiles argues that their children deserve privacy if they want it, but Derek attests that walls do very little but let the imagination run wild when werewolf ears can hear so much.

After their discussion escalates to harsh arm flailings and curt shouts, Stiles and Derek fall into bed together, angrily sex it up, and compromise in the afterglow on five true bedrooms, three study/office rooms, and a large bonus room upstairs. And each bedroom is separated by more than a wall, a bathroom in between.

  
xxxiii.  
_thirty-two years old; thirty-nine years old_

  
“Ew, your hand is sweaty!” Stiles scrunches up his nose and squints his eyes, the sun a menace in early July as he accepts the lemonade Derek so kindly serves him.

Derek rolls his eyes and settles into the lawn chair next to Stiles’ where his own plate of food awaits.

One of the best things about pack gatherings, Derek will admit unashamedly, is the fact that he doesn’t have to take care of his own kids. He loves them, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to know they’re being loved on by people with higher quotas of patience while his own replenishes.

“Just think,” Stiles manages to voice past his mouthful of barbeque sandwich, “In three weeks the twins will be three, and we’ll be doing this all over again.” He smiles with his teeth, brown gunk oozing down his lower lip.

Derek wipes his sweaty palm down Stiles’ cheek and calls it even, kind of gets a thrill out of his mate’s shriek and subsequent hollering about how gross Derek is. Truthfully, his dick twitches at the wiliness of his omega, at the challenge presented, and he’s too old to be ashamed of what gets him going.

Which is probably why Stiles is pregnant. Just a month, but they’re not telling anyone because Stiles feels in his bones that this child is not theirs to have, that it will be whisked off to another universe for another Stiles and Derek to cherish.

Having grown extremely versed in tuning his husband out, Derek blinks back into reality and darts forward to bite a kiss onto Stiles’ mouth. There’s a gasp, and their tongues slide together, and there’s more pork involved than preferable, but it’s raw and real and it gets his mate emitting gleefully aroused pheromones, so Derek thinks it a win.

“Not in front of the kids!” What must be Scott jokes as he plops down in his own spot in their semi-circle.

“I’ve yet to get used to it,” John grunts his arrival, “my two boys macking on each other in broad daylight, but I still remember when little Derek would rock baby Stiles to sleep in his arms.”

“Aww,” Allison coos.

“It’s true,” Peter validates as if anyone had doubts, “They were always drawn to each other. Derek was the only one who could get him to behave.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Derek snorts. If anything, the older Stiles ages the more he acts up just to get a rise out of Derek.

Stiles kisses the palm of Derek’s sweaty hand and interlaces their fingers.

“In spirit of our national independence day,” Talia preludes once everyone has had ample time to eat and converse, “I thought it appropriate now to inform my pack of good news in our government. California will have in a year’s time not one governor but a board of delegates to represent humans and Supernaturals alike across our state, which is a step further toward equality.”

Someone gives a shout, and Talia smiles as more people join in to applaud the notion.

“As many of you are aware, being elected governor has previously entailed the elected official to relocate to Sacramento, which is much of the reason I’ve never run for the position.” A pause for breath or maybe just dramatics. “But having a representative panel means the elected officials may stay with their constituents. Therefore I think it time I run for a place on the governing council of California.”

More hoots and hollers.

“Thank you, Hale Pack,” Talia says earnestly, “Your support means the world to me. There is another factor to consider, though. If I’m elected, then there will be an open seat for Mayor of Beacon Hills, and I plan on pledging support to John Stilinski.”

Again, cheers, but Derek is mostly too shocked to react. Because if John runs for mayor…

John moves to stand beside Talia, and the pack quiets down. He’s blushing, but his action makes it seem like he has had an announcement of his own planned. “If things work out with Talia becoming a member of the governorship and me the mayor, then there will be a seat open as Sheriff of Beacon Hills,” John pauses to stare directly at Derek with an expression that speaks a thousand words, “and I plan on pledging my support to Derek Hale.”

  
xxxiv.  
_thirty-three years old; forty years old_

  
“Quit stalling,” Derek can hear from around the corner Stiles berating one of their daughters, “Where’s your father?”

“I’m here,” Derek announces as soon as they’re in sight, Claere slumped in a blue seat outside of her school’s office while Stiles glares down at her, both of their arms crossed defiantly.

Claire perks up as soon as she sees Derek, which means she’s in trouble for something that Derek will likely not consider a big deal, which means Stiles _does_ think it significant, which means Derek will end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

Derek settles himself equidistance between the two, curves a palm down Stiles’ back and kisses him sweetly on the mouth before smoothing down Claere’s hair. Seeing his mate angered and his pup in distress has his hackles raising, and his wolf is terribly confused as to why the negative emotions seem to be directed at each other.

“ _Now_ will you explain to me why I got a call ten minutes before my website was due from your principal who is threatening suspension?” Stiles nearly shouts, is far too condescending in tone.

Promptly, Claere bursts into tears. Great big blubbers as her face beats red and her claws sprout.

 _Fuck_. Maybe Derek should tell Stiles to stop arguing with their ten-year-old like she’s an adult, and maybe he should pull Claere under his wing to tell her that it’s alright, that _Tata_ is mad at the situation, not at her, but the front office lady sticks her head out the glass door and tells them Principal Raeken is ready for them.

Quite honestly, the meeting goes almost worst-case scenario above only all of them dying in a bloodbath brawl.

To start, Raeken seems unpleasantly surprised to see Derek in attendance, and Derek at first writes it off as the man simply not expecting Derek because he only called Stiles. But Raeken seems to actively be avoiding eye contact.

Next, Raeken claims that Claere was seen molesting another peer on the playground, that it has happened on multiple occasions already, and Claere cries harder, and Stiles asks if Raeken makes a habit of watching ‘ _molestation_ ’ play out.

Raeken’s heartbeat stutters, and Derek gains a sinking feeling in his stomach, skin crawling.

Finally Claere speaks up: “She’s my _girlfriend_! Her own fang cut her lip, not mine; she’s a vampire!”

Stiles charges on as if not even hearing Claere, “Have you spoken to the other child’s gaurdians? Do they know of what has occurred?” When Raeken hesitates to answer, Stiles blows up about how Raeken doesn’t even believe there was an attack committed and that he’s just homophobic and speciesist and that Stiles will be speaking to the school board about this and that and another thing.

Any other day Derek might let Stiles continue on or take over himself, but as Raeken reacts to every accusation thrown at him, Derek can’t stand the idea of his child and husband in the same room with the man. Derek checks out Calum and Celina as well.

After corralling the triplets into Stiles’ SUV, Derek gives Stiles a look that tells him not to badger their daughter about this mysterious girlfriend and a kiss that begs him not to be hurt that she didn’t tell them sooner. They stand there for a few minutes, basking in each other’s warmth and caressing whatever their hands can reach, both of them needy as they come down from such a tense situation.

“I’ll be home by seven,” Derek murmurs as he pushes hair away from Stiles’ forehead.

“I’ll have dinner ready for you,” Stiles replies instead of voicing how much he wants Derek to be able to take the rest of the day off, clear as day on his face.

Derek sidelines menial work in his office in order to pull up any information he can on one Theo Raeken. It’s a long process of dead ends. Having a clean record and being principal of an elementary school makes Derek wary of voicing his concerns to others in the force in case it stirs up drama in the town.

Over the next few days Derek tracks down Raeken’s fingerprint in a database from years ago when werewolves first came out of hiding and were wrangled into being accounted for by their local government and law enforcement agency. Turns out he’s bitten, not born, which makes sense as to why he has so much trouble controlling his nervous tics around other Supernaturals.

Being Sheriff and the son of a prominent politician, Derek makes a few calls and finds out the same fingerprints match that of one Theodore Raeken who has a juvenile arrest record of theft in some county in Washington. Following the breadcrumbs, Derek calls the county’s police department of which there is only one and is given the personal phone number of the retired chief after much canoodling.

Luckily enough, Derek only has to mention ‘Raeken’ before the chief is cursing daylight and grumbling about how the kid caused so much trouble in the town from school fights to vandalism. Without even being prompted, the chief boasts that they finally handcuffed him for stealing an adult magazine from the gas station.

“Between you and me,” chief says conspiratorially as if they’re old chums, “I always thought he was into deeper stuff in the – er – adult activity field.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asks, blood running cold at the thought of Raeken having a history with prostitutes.

“An IP address was put on a watch list for illegal explicit searches, and the location was from his childhood home, but I don’t think it was his parents looking up child bestiality.”

  
xxxv.  
_thirty-four years old; forty-one years old_

  
“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

Stiles giggles a bit breathlessly and curves a palm around Derek’s ass, rubs sweetly, “You’re absolutely fine.”

As soon as Derek got off shift he trucked it to Scott and Allison’s house for their pregnancy announcement dinner. Everyone had just started eating when Derek arrived, so there was a relative quiet filled only with noises of mastication, and Stiles had just come out of the kitchen and apparently not taken note of the lack of noise, so he had wound his arm up like he was throwing the opening pitch of the world fucking series and smacked Derek right on the meat of his asscheek.

The triplets were mortified, naturally, even though everyone close enough to attend Scott and Allison’s pregnancy announcement doesn’t actually care – even relish in finding ways to tease them – and both Derek’s ears and dick filled with blood, so now they’re in the downstairs bathroom rubbing against each other shamelessly.

“You just looks so hot in your uniform, Sheriff,” Stiles groans as he finds a rhythm grinding against Derek’s crotch. “Are we ruining Scott and Alli’s night if we get off in the bathroom and everyone knows?”

At another time Derek might insist they separate and calm themselves and save it for later, but Derek is so tired from his shift, and he’s _weak_ , okay? He wants his sweet little feisty omega to remind him why he puts up with the hard-to-swallow aspects of his job.

“It wouldn’t be a Hale Pack gathering if we didn’t christen it,” Derek huffs as he shoves down his khaki pants.

“Oh, my god,” Stiles moans, completely conspicuous, and wiggles his own jeans past his ass so he can fist both of their dicks.

When they re-emerge from the bathroom all of the kids have already vacated the house and taken up residence in the backyard playing some game that will surely end in a few tussles. Anastazja is sat in Allison’s lap, though, which isn’t an odd occurrence necessarily, but she’d usually prefer to be causing mischief with the rest of the kids.

Stiles and Derek are ushered to sit with a group of humans that don’t have as irritable noses, which puts them directly beside John, which makes Derek , for one, want to die.

Allison stands up and traces her eyes around the room pleasantly enough, but everyone quiets down as if being yelled at by a drill sergeant. Must be the teacher in her. 

“As you all know, I accepted the position of Principal of Beacon Hills Preparatory – thank you again, Derek, for protecting our town and our children from the likes of Raeken,” Allison sneaks in, and Derek can only nod solemnly because the topic isn’t one he likes to reminisce on, “and I won’t be starting until after this upcoming school year, but I haven’t exactly been truthful as to why I’ve deferred.”

Because Scott has a huge mouth and Stiles has a huge mouth as well, Derek knew about Allison’s pregnancy before she even confirmed it with a test. The pregnancy is the reason she doesn’t want to become principal since she’d be on maternity leave half the year. 

Having heard the speech rehearsed before, Derek’s mind wanders a bit, idly imagines a pack gathering that isn’t centered around an announcement of some sort. His gaze settles on Anastazja, a carbon copy of Stiles, nearly. She’s raptly paying attention to Allison even though she’s overheard from Derek and Stiles’ conversations what’s going on even if she doesn’t understand all of it.

Derek hasn’t thought much of Anastazja growing closer to Allison these past few months. He’s just assumed that the McCall house has different friends to play with and possibly more kinds of sweets. But she has thrown two tantrums in the last week or so over not being allowed to go to see Aunt Allison – not typical three-year-old petulance, but uncontrollable meltdowns where she morphs into her wolf form and _howls_.

No, Derek hadn’t thought much of Anastazja’s behavior at all. But now, watching Anastazja snuggle against Allison’s belly, seeing her beam when Allison admits to everyone else that she’s pregnant, Derek starts to wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love helpful critique on my writing style, suggestions for what you want to see in the fic, and other fic recommendations!
> 
> tumblr: [rogueziam](http://rogueziam.tumblr.com)
> 
> All kudos, comments, and bookmarks truly are greatly appreciated!


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